


A Cure For Nightmares [+podfic]

by picascribit



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Boarding School, Bottom Sirius, Christmas, Coming Out, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Consent, Falling In Love, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Healing, Healthy Relationships, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, Kidnapping, M/M, Marauders' Era, Marijuana, Mental Health Issues, Nightmares, Past Character Death, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Podfic, Podfic Length: 3.5-4 Hours, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Parents, Rape Recovery, Recreational Drug Use, Romance, Scars, Self-Harm, Top Remus, Triggers, love/sex does not cure mental health issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-29
Updated: 2014-05-19
Packaged: 2017-12-23 02:32:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 14
Words: 36,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/920957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/picascribit/pseuds/picascribit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1976-1978: There's a mysterious new boy at St Godric's boarding school, and Sirius can't stop thinking about him, but the secret Remus is keeping might break Sirius's heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sleeplessness

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning:** Recreational drug use, self-harm, past child death, past sexual abuse of a child, liberties taken with 1970s British boarding school culture.
> 
> Edited May 2014, with an all-new Chapter 12 added.
> 
>  **Podfic:**  
>  **Duration:** 3 hr 32 min  
>  **Size:** 193 MB  
>  **Download:** [.zip file of mp3s @ Mediafire](http://www.mediafire.com/download/03r872952jep5pb/A_Cure_For_Nightmares.zip)  
> 

**October 1976**

It was supposed to have been just the three of them this year. Not that there had been anything wrong with Abernathy. He had been all right in a middle-class sort of way. Nice to look at, too, though Sirius Black knew better than to say such things aloud about one's roommates. Abernathy's father's company had transferred him to America the previous spring, so this year, it was meant to be just Sirius and his friends, James Potter and Peter Pettigrew, sharing a room, which would have been ace. 

Sirius eyed the case lying on the vacant fourth bed near the narrow dormitory room's only window with displeasure. It was scuffed, but had at one time been of decent quality. Of its owner, there was, as yet, no sign. 

"What d'you think he'll be like?" wondered Peter. 

James shrugged, disinterested. "Up himself." That was James's opinion of most of the boys who attended St Godric's boarding school. 

"I thought it was just going to be the three of us," grumbled Sirius, subsiding onto his bed. "What are they playing at, putting someone new in our room?" 

"Think they should've consulted you first, do you, Black?" laughed James, running a hand through his cloud of messy black curls. "Your parents' money may go a long way, but I doubt it's enough to stop the school filling vacancies. I've heard tell they like other people's money, too." 

"Why's he starting now?" Sirius complained. "We're already two months in. He'll be well behind." 

"Must've transferred," said James. "Like Abernathy. His father probably got a new job." 

"I heard he was in some kind of trouble at his old school," volunteered Peter. 

Sirius sat up. "What kind of trouble?" 

Peter shook his head. "Dunno. Fighting or something, probably. I overheard McGonagall and Flitwick talking about it when I passed the staff room earlier. They shut up when they saw me, though." 

That might make things interesting. Sirius and James were widely considered to be the biggest troublemakers at St Godric's, but their family connections kept the teachers from making too much fuss. James's parents considered their son's behaviour to be nothing more than youthful high spirits, and while Sirius received a sharp note of reprimand from home every now and then, his parents preferred ignoring their son to dealing with him. However, James and Sirius's troublemaking usually took the form of pranks and clownish behaviour. If the new boy was a bully, they might need to pound on him a little, to show him where he fell in the order of things. 

"What exactly did McGonagall and Flitwick --?" Sirius started to ask, but was interrupted by the opening of the dormitory door. 

The boy in the doorway froze, caught in the crosshairs of three narrowed gazes. He did not look like a bully; more like the sort of person bullies targeted. He was possibly a hair taller than James, but he was skinny and pale -- almost sickly-looking -- compared with James's dark skin and lean, athletic build. Honey-brown hair fell into large, wary brown eyes as he regarded his new roommates. His burgundy school blazer and navy blue trousers looked secondhand. Perhaps poverty had been the catalyst for the bullying that had necessitated his transfer. Sirius wondered how his family could afford St Godric's. 

The boy dropped his eyes to the floor and moved across the room to the bed with his case on it. 

"What's your name?" asked James sharply, bearing down on the new boy. A stranger entering their room unasked and without a proper introduction had no right to his usual friendly manner. 

"Lupin," mumbled the boy, busying himself with the latch on his case to avoid James's eyes. "Remus Lupin." 

"I'm James Potter," James informed him. "That's Peter Pettigrew, down the other end, and this is my best mate, Sirius Black." 

"Nice to meet you." Lupin did not raise his eyes. 

James was quiet for a moment, considering the stranger. "Black's queer," he said, voice rippling with challenge, "That's not going to be a problem for you, is it?" 

Lupin glanced up at James, startled, then shifted a less readable look to Sirius, who scowled. He did not make a secret of his preferences, exactly, but he felt that it was his place to tell, not James's, even if James was the unspoken leader. 

Wary brown eyes fixed on Sirius for a moment before dropping back to the open case. "No. No problem. So long as he keeps his hands to himself." 

* * *

Sirius woke shivering. For once, it was not a nightmare that had awakened him. The room was dark and the flimsy privacy curtain that hung between his bed and Lupin's was drawn closed, but from the flutter of it, Sirius could tell that the window was open. 

"Shut the bloody window, Lupin!" he hissed into the darkness. "It's October, for god's sake!" 

When no answering word or movement came from the other side of the curtain, Sirius got up, cursing as his bare feet touched the cold floor, and stamped over to shut the window for himself. He fell back into bed, muttering under his breath about inconsiderate tossers, burrowed under the blankets, and tried to go back to sleep. 

* * *

Lupin was a swot. Sirius had reached this conclusion long before the end of the new boy's first week at St Godric's. He made no attempt to speak to, or get to know, his roommates, and all of his time that was not taken up with lessons, meals, or sleep, was spent in the tiny, private study room he had been assigned, or lying on his bed with his nose in one of his textbooks. He was not even behind in his lessons, as Sirius had supposed. He rarely raised his hand, but when called upon, gave correct answers in the same flat, quiet voice in which he had introduced himself. 

Sirius was annoyed. He and James frequently engaged in friendly competition to see who could get the best marks in their year -- usually without half trying -- and he did not like the idea of a swotty stranger beating them both, just because he had nothing better to do with his time than study. 

Lupin persisted in falling asleep with the window open every night. He seemed to think that, just because it happened to be next to his bed, it was up to him whether it was closed or not. Sirius complained loudly and repeatedly, but Lupin ignored him, and every night, Sirius awoke to cold and darkness and an increasingly bad temper. Peter had begun laying a fire in their room's small hearth in the evenings, but it was at his and James's end of the long room. Sirius wondered if Lupin would continue in his stubborn refusal to see reason until a winter chill carried them all off. If this was how Lupin normally behaved, then it was no wonder if he had been beaten regularly at his old school. Sirius felt rather like punching the quiet boy himself. 

The tension in the dormitory room reached a breaking point on the Saturday following Lupin's first week at the school. 

"Halloween next weekend," James commented that afternoon. 

His tone was casual, but Sirius grinned. The last weekend in October was traditionally one of three weekends of the year when a social was held between the boys of St Godric's and the girls of their sister school, St Helga's, in the next town. James was keenly interested in girls. Or one girl, at least. 

"Going to try to get off with Evans again?" Sirius teased. 

"Almost got off with her last time, didn't I?" said James, grinning and running a hand through his hair. "I expect she's gagging for it by now." 

"Since when does getting slapped count as 'almost getting off'?" Sirius snorted. "You're lucky you're not banned from going this year, mate." 

"No need to take that tone with me just because _you_ won't be getting off with anyone, Black," said James, his dignity wounded. 

Sirius smirked. "I was thinking of asking Pettigrew or Lupin to accompany me, but it didn't seem fair, having to choose between them, so I think I'll just go stag." He caught the eye of the boy lounging on the next bed, reading, and gave him a teasing wink. 

Lupin quickly looked back down at his English text. "I won't be going," he mumbled. 

"You should, Lupin!" Peter enthused. "There'll be girls and music and dancing. I'm going to ask Maddy Yaxley to dance with me." 

James grinned at him. "You say that every time. I'll believe it when I see it. You should come, though, Lupin. It's a good laugh, and I know a bloke who can fix us up with some liquor." 

Lupin only shook his head. 

James shrugged and turned back to Peter. "Let's make a bet, Pettigrew. If you get off with Yaxley before I get off with Evans, I'll write your next English paper for you. But if I get off with Evans first, you have to sleep with my rugby shorts under your pillow for a week." 

"I already got off with Maddy," Peter complained, making a face. "At the choir competition. We snuck into an empty practice room, and --" 

"You're not going to tell that old story again?" groaned Sirius. "Pettigrew claims he almost had a shag once," he explained to Lupin. "But since he's too scared to speak to the bird he says it happened with, Potter and I aren't buying it." He turned back to James. "I'll take your bet. I could use one less paper to write. If I get off with any of the blokes there before you get off with Evans, I win." 

"Not going to happen," James said flatly. "After last time, McGonagall will have her eye on you. If you even look twice at anyone, she'll march you straight out of there, and give you a month of detention." 

"Last time, he snogged Dorian Gaveston," Peter told Lupin. 

Lupin raised his eyebrows. "And he didn't punch him?" 

"Nah; he was up for it," grinned Sirius. "Though of course he claimed afterwards that he was just too shocked to move. I've gotten off with lots of blokes at this school." 

James snorted. "He thinks they're dazzled by his good looks and boyish charm, but having loads of money and a title might have something to do with it, too." 

Sirius threw his pillow at his best friend, then asked, "What about you, Lupin? Done much snogging?" 

"I'd say that's none of your business," said Lupin, eyes back on his English text. 

"What's this?" Sirius pressed his hands theatrically to his heart. "Sweet sixteen and never been kissed? Is that how it is, Lupin?" 

Lupin glanced up, something indecipherable lurking in the depths of his eyes. "Leave it, Black," he said very softly, face flushed. 

His expression killed the laughter on Sirius's lips, but James and Peter had not noticed. 

"Is that why you left your last school, Lupin?" James goaded. "Did they tease you for being an innocent flower? Don't worry; we can help you get your cock wet, if you like. There are lots of friendly girls at St Helga's. Yaxley would probably do you before she'd do Pettigrew. At least you're taller than she --" 

Lupin, who had been growing steadily redder as James spoke, jerked himself upright and stood, teeth clenched, eyes flashing fire. His three roommates stared at him. For a moment it looked as if he might attack James. 

"Shut up," he hissed. "I'm not going to your bloody social, all right?" 

"Lupin," said Sirius warningly, moving to stand between the new boy and his best friend. 

Very slowly, Lupin's eyes moved from James, still lounging on his bed, to Peter, blue eyes wide, mouth hanging open, to Sirius, standing in front of him, fists clenched. Sirius would not hit him if he did not have to; it was not his style. But that did not mean he would hesitate if Lupin tried to lay a hand on James. 

"You know what?" said Lupin. "Fuck all of you." He turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him. 

Sirius, James, and Peter stared at one another in bewilderment. 

* * *

Lupin did not return to the dormitory until after lights out. Sirius considered pretending to be asleep as the other boy crept through the darkened room, but when Lupin stubbed his toes on the case at the foot of his bed and swore breathlessly, Sirius sat up. 

"How'd you get past Filch?" he whispered. The doorman was legendarily strict about students being out of their beds after hours. 

"Told him I had to see the matron," Lupin mumbled. He yanked the privacy curtain closed, signaling an end to the conversation. 

When Sirius awoke on Sunday morning, Lupin was not there. As he, James, and Peter entered the dining hall for breakfast, he thought he caught sight of Lupin leaving, which suited Sirius perfectly. He had had to get up again in the night to close the window, and was not feeling very charitable towards his new roommate. 

Lupin did not reappear all that day, though Sirius looked for him in chapel, at lunch, and then again at supper. He returned only just before lights out and drew the curtain without speaking to any of them. 

That night, Sirius decided that he was not going to wake to chilly fingers and frozen toes again. He lay awake until the sound of Lupin's breathing had evened into sleep, then tiptoed over to the window. 

His hand was on the sash when a quiet voice said, "Don't. Please." 

"I'm getting tired of freezing my bollocks off every night, Lupin." 

Lupin sat up, tugging at his bedclothes. "Here. Take my blanket if you're cold. I just need it open, all right?" 

"You'll freeze," said Sirius. 

"I'll be fine," Lupin assured him. "I wouldn't want you catching a chill on account of me." 

"Thanks," Sirius said awkwardly, reaching for the woolen blanket. "I thought you hated us." 

"No. I save my hate for things that matter." 

Lying awake in his bed, curled up under the extra blanket, Sirius tried to make sense of Lupin's words. If he thought his roommates did not matter, then why had he almost attacked James for teasing him? Something about the exchange had clearly upset him. For the first time, Lupin's quietness struck Sirius not as boring, but as secretive and mysterious. He resolved to keep an eye on the new boy. 

* * *

Sleeplessness was beginning to take its toll on Sirius. He had not had a full night's sleep since Lupin had arrived at the school. His weariness and short temper caused his better judgment to desert him when Professor Flitwick, the Maths master, reprimanded him for inattention in class. Sirius responded with a snide remark, and Flitwick, unamused, summoned him up to his desk at the end of the lesson. 

"I won't abide unruliness in my classroom, Mr Black," he said grimly. "You will keep yourself in better order, henceforth. Don't think that just because your parents are who they are that you are exempt from all discipline. You will treat your professors with the proper respect, or a letter will be sent home. You will also shine your shoes and report to the matron after supper this evening for a haircut." 

Sirius blanched. He liked how long his hair was getting, knowing that it would infuriate his parents over the winter holidays. 

"Sir," he began, "I apologise. I know there's no excuse --" 

"Be that as it may, Mr Black, the school dress code is clear on the matter of appropriate hair length for students. Haircut. End of discussion." 

Sirius spent the rest of the day in an even more foul mood than before. He had only ever had one haircut from Madam Pomfrey, the school matron, in his second year, and she had made a truly appalling mess of it. James and Peter had mocked him mercilessly for weeks until it grew out. How could he show himself at the autumn social looking like a poorly-groomed hedgehog? James would win their bet for sure -- a distasteful thought, even though he and Sirius had agreed to alter the terms to exclude James's smelly rugby shorts. 

After supper that night, Sirius dragged his feet to the infirmary. "Professor Flitwick says I'm to have a haircut, Ma'am," he mumbled. 

" _Tcha_. As if I don't have enough to do!" said the matron impatiently. "Sit down, then." 

Sirius sat, feeling dismal, as Pomfrey retrieved a blunt pair of shears from a drawer. 

"Hold still," she instructed. "We'll try to get this over with as quickly as possible." 

Resigning himself to his fate, Sirius closed his eyes. He tried to think pleasant thoughts to drown out the _snick, snick_ of the shears performing their butchery on his wavy black locks, but very little sprang to mind. 

"Oh. Sorry," said a quiet voice. 

Sirius groaned inwardly. He was not even back in his dormitory yet, and already he would have to suffer the humiliation of being seen by one of his school fellows. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes. Remus Lupin stood in the doorway, looking uncertain. 

"They're just there on the counter, Mr Lupin," the matron said briskly, nodding in the direction of a small paper cup. "Take them, and be off with you." 

Lupin's eyes dropped to the floor as he mumbled something that might have been thanks, and picked up the cup, turning to go. 

"Not so fast!" snapped the matron. "You'll take them where I can see you." 

Lupin hesitated only a moment before bringing the cup to his mouth and tilting his head back. He swallowed visibly. 

"There's a good lad." Pomfrey nodded her approval. "All right, I'm finished with you, Mr Black. You may go." 

Sirius did not dare to glance in the mirror that hung on the infirmary wall. He hurried out the door after Lupin. 

"I didn't know you were ill," he said when he had caught up with the other boy just past the chapel. 

"I'm not," said Lupin shortly. 

"Then what's the medicine you took for?" 

"Nothing," said Lupin. He spat two round, white pills into the palm of his hand, and flung them away into the gathering dusk. 

"What are --?" began Sirius. 

"Forget it," said Lupin, turning away, the edge of steel back in his voice for the first time since he had shouted at James. "I need to go to the library before curfew." 

He hurried off, leaving Sirius to stare after him, more puzzled than ever.


	2. Guilty Conscience

It was worse than Sirius had expected. His fringe was still long enough that it fell into his eyes, but a small patch of pale scalp was visible on the left side of his head. Everyone had laughed at him. Even some of the teachers had had difficulty hiding their amusement. While James employed his considerable popularity and social status as captain of the school rugby club to make the other students leave Sirius alone, in private he and Peter were the worst of the lot, keeping up a running stream of hair jokes until Sirius was ready to clobber them both. Only Lupin said nothing. 

By Wednesday evening, Sirius had come to the end of his endurance, and when that happened, he knew of only one means of escape. Sneaking back to the dormitory early from supper, he felt around under his mattress until he located the small, flat box hidden there. Making certain he was not observed, Sirius left the building, walking quickly. 

When one wished to be alone at St Godric's, Sirius had discovered that the best place to hide was between the back wall of the chapel and the high, thick hedge that ringed the school grounds. Few students or staff had cause to frequent the area, and the building blocked the worst of the cold autumn wind. 

Sirius flopped down on the grass in the shadow of the stone building. Opening the box and unwrapping a twist of paper, he shook out some of the precious green herb it contained onto a rolling paper. Supply could not always keep up with demand at St Godric's -- especially not of the quality Sirius preferred -- so he hoarded his stash for occasions like this when he especially needed it. 

The first cloud of smoke left his lungs with a sigh of relief. Already, he could feel the tension draining from his muscles, his frayed nerves relaxing. The haircut, the sleeplessness, the annoying habits of his friends and classmates, and the mystery of Remus Lupin all receded, for the moment, into unimportance. 

When Sirius heard footsteps on the path that fronted the chapel, he pressed his back instinctively against the stone wall, even though there was little chance of his being noticed if he kept quiet. Peering around the corner, he saw Lupin hurrying towards the administrative building. He disappeared through the main doors, unaware that he had been observed. 

It occurred to Sirius's hazy brain that his roommate must be visiting the matron again -- that he must do so every night. He slouched in the shadows, taking occasional long, slow drags on his joint, waiting for the doors to reopen. When they did, he saw Lupin once again spit the pills into his palm and fling them away into the shrubbery. 

Sirius knew he should withdraw further behind the chapel before Lupin saw him, but his curiosity about the boy's odd behaviour got the better of him. Lupin might be strange, his stability questionable, but Sirius did not think he was a snitch. He took a step out into the open. Lupin halted, catching sight of him. When Sirius beckoned him closer, he approached warily. 

"Want a toke?" Sirius held out the half-finished joint. 

Lupin stared at him for a moment, then shrugged and accepted, inhaling deeply. He did not cough. 

_Maybe not such a swot after all,_ thought Sirius, observing the other boy from beneath lowered lashes. 

Lupin leaned back against the chapel wall, hair falling into his eyes, lips pursed around the little roll of paper. Sirius caught himself staring at Lupin's mouth, and quickly looked away, flustered. Casting about for a topic of conversation, he remembered the reason he had wanted to talk to the other boy in the first place. 

"Are you going to tell me what those pills are for?" 

"Nothing that this doesn't do about a hundred times better," said Lupin evasively, passing the joint back. "That's decent stuff. Aren't you worried about getting caught, though?" 

Sirius took a drag, smirking. "If you knew how much money my parents give to this school, you wouldn't be asking. They tend to turn a blind eye to little things like this, so long as I keep it quiet, and my parents don't care, so long as my marks are good." He passed the end back to Lupin, and began rolling another. 

"Don't bother on my account," Lupin said quickly. "You're not sharing with Potter and Pettigrew; you don't have to waste your supply on me." He took a last drag and discarded the remainder with a practiced flick. 

Sirius smiled and lit the new roll, taking the first drag for himself. "Potter doesn't smoke because of rugby. He'd be chucked off the team if they caught him at it. Pettigrew worries that it will make him stupid. His marks are bad enough as it is." 

Lupin nodded, accepting the new joint from Sirius's fingers. "So, does turning a blind eye apply to your being queer, too? People leave you alone about it?" 

Sirius shrugged, resettling his shoulders against the wall. "Mostly. But Potter's part of it. He's always been really good about it, and Pettigrew follows his lead. Everyone does, really. People like him. Being rugby captain doesn't hurt." 

"He sounds like a good mate," said Lupin. "Are you and he --?" 

Sirius laughed. "Me and Potter? Not bloody likely! No, he's my best mate, and that's all I'd ever want him to be. Anyway, he only likes girls." 

"What about your family?" asked Lupin. "Do they know?" 

Sirius nodded. "They think it's just a phase. I mean, it's not as if we talk about it, but they've hinted that once I finish school, I'll be expected to stop 'experimenting' and get on with the business of getting married and securing the family line." 

"Charming," said Lupin drily. "How did they find out? Did you tell them?" 

"We had a row," Sirius admitted. "I was angry. I wanted to shock them. Same thing with Potter, actually." He grinned at the memory. 

Lupin gave a little huff that was almost a laugh. "That doesn't surprise me." 

"Speaking of rows," Sirius ventured, "I've been meaning to say -- about the other day ..." 

Lupin stiffened, suddenly wary. "Yeah?" 

"I'm sorry about Potter. Pettigrew, too. They can be a right pair of tossers sometimes." 

Lupin raised an eyebrow. "But not you?" 

Sirius grinned again. "Well, at least I know when I'm being one." 

Lupin gave him a long, steady look as he inhaled deeply from the twist of paper. "Do you know," he said slowly, white smoke falling from his lips, "that your hair looks utterly ridiculous?" 

Sirius blinked at him, then burst out laughing. "Really? I was told it was the very latest thing in Paris!" 

"She's left it too long here, in the fringe," said Lupin, fingers lightly ruffling Sirius's hair in demonstration. 

The brief touch stopped Sirius's laughter. He wondered if his heart had been beating so quickly a moment before. 

"And she's missed this bit over your right ear entirely, " Lupin continued, oblivious. 

"Um -- yeah, I know," said Sirius, self-consciously tucking the uneven locks behind his ear as he fumbled the joint back from the other boy. 

"I could have a go at it if you like," Lupin said doubtfully. Then he grinned. "I don't think I could make it look any worse." 

Sirius's breath caught in his throat, and he had to remind himself not to stare at Lupin's mouth again. The wide, sweet smile that curved his lips translated the other boy's face into unexpected beauty. 

_It's just like Abernathy,_ Sirius told himself, turning away and inhaling the last of the relaxing smoke. _It doesn't matter how pretty they are; you don't do anything about it when they're your roommate._

"Yeah," he said at last, exhaling in a steady stream. "Give it a go. What do I have to lose?" 

* * *

Sirius slept well, and he did not cringe at the sight of himself in the bathroom mirror the next morning. He did not like having short hair, but Remus had managed to even it up a bit so that it did not look quite so much like he had lost a bet to a drunk with a pair of scissors. That afternoon, he visited the laundry room and requested an additional blanket, returning Remus's with thanks. 

Once Remus warmed to him, Sirius found that he enjoyed his new roommate's company. Remus had a quick wit and a wry sense of humour. Sirius would have been pleased with their newfound camaraderie, but for one problem: he could not stop thinking about the other boy, or stealing glances at him. During their History lesson, Sirius drifted off into fantasy, remembering the pleasant sensation of long, sure fingers carding through the remnants of his hair, and shivering again at the memory of Remus blowing on the back of his neck to remove the stray clipped hairs that had fallen there. When he looked at his notes at the end of the lesson, he noticed that he had accidentally written Remus's name into a list of nineteenth century European monarchs, and hastily scratched it out. 

_All right,_ he thought, grinding his teeth in annoyance. _You can look and you can daydream, but that's all. He's your roommate and he's straight. Nothing is going to happen._

That night, the dream found him. 

It started off pleasantly. It was always pleasant at first. He could feel the sun in his hair and the sand between his toes. His brother Regulus was laughing as they raced along the shore. But then, inevitably, the dream turned dark. Even though Sirius had lived through it hundreds of times before and knew it for what it was, he could do nothing to stop what had happened -- what would always happen. 

" _Regs!_ " he gasped, jerking awake, sweaty bedclothes tangled around him. 

Sirius's heart was racing, his whole body was tensed and shaking. He realised where he was almost immediately, and fell back against the pillow, willing himself to calm down with limited success. 

"Are you OK?" whispered a voice close by. 

Sirius could just make out Remus, lying on his side in the next bed, watching him. 

"Fine," Sirius lied. "It was just a dream." His teeth chattered as he spoke, and he clenched his jaw hard to make them stop, squeezing his eyes shut. 

He heard the squeak of Remus's bed frame, and footsteps crossing the room. A moment later, Remus was back. "Here." 

Sirius opened his eyes to find a glass of water on his nightstand. He sat up and drank gratefully. "Thanks." 

"It's nothing," said Remus. "Are you OK now?" 

Sirius shrugged. The panic had receded somewhat, but it might still overwhelm him if he let his guard down. 

"I know what it's like," Remus told him. "Having the window open helps a bit, for me." 

"Nothing helps me except maybe tossing off, after," Sirius grumbled. "Sometimes it's the only way I can get back to sleep." 

Remus gave a quiet huff of laughter. "I'll draw the curtain, if you like." 

"Nah; not in the mood." 

"So, who's Regs?" Remus asked. "Old boyfriend?" 

Sirius hesitated. He had never talked about it before. What if it brought on the panic again? "My younger brother. Regulus," he said at last, quietly. 

"I didn't know you had a brother," said Remus, surprised. "Does he go here?" 

"No," said Sirius bitterly. "If he did, maybe I wouldn't have dreams like that all the time." 

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," Remus told him. 

"Is it the same for you?" Sirius tried to search his face in the darkness. "Nightmares because of something that happened?" 

Remus turned on his back, fixing his eyes on the ceiling to avoid Sirius's gaze. "Yeah." 

Sirius contemplated his new friend's moonlit profile. He had never told anyone about the dreams, not even James. But if Remus suffered from them, too, he might understand. And if he did not understand, losing Remus's friendship and respect would probably hurt less than losing James's would. 

"There's a beach, just below the castle," Sirius whispered. "It's been in the family for generations. Regs and I always loved that it was _our_ beach. Whenever the weather was decent, we'd go down, whether our parents gave us permission or not. We'd sneak away from our governess and make a run for it." 

Sirius could not look at Remus as he spoke, but stared instead at the crescent moon, visible through the open window. He knew Remus was watching him. It was easier to make his confession without having to look into those searching brown eyes. 

"That day -- we were running along the beach and playing in the water. The weather was just perfect. Regs climbed up onto a big rock and declared himself 'King of the Castle'." Sirius smiled wistfully. "He loved to climb. He could scramble up the cliffs like you wouldn't believe, and be home in under three minutes, while the path took at least ten. Mother would shriek and carry on, and Father would strap him whenever they caught him at it, but it never stopped him." 

His smile faded. "I challenged him to a race up the cliffs. He almost always won those, even though he was two years younger. But that day, I decided there was no way I would let him beat me. I started to climb, and I felt like I was flying, it was so easy. I got to a ledge about twenty metres up, and looked back to see him below me, laughing and telling me I'd won. 

"I called him a pansy," Sirius whispered, so softly that it was a wonder Remus could hear him at all. His cheeks burned with shame at the memory. "I told him he was getting soft if he couldn't make it to where I was. He laughed and reached for another handhold, but his foot slipped. He fell. I still remember the sound of his head hitting the rocks. I don't even know how I got back down. I screamed and screamed for help, but --" He broke off, throat tight, realising his face was wet with tears. 

"Did anyone come?" Remus asked, quiet voice tense. 

"Yes," said Sirius bitterly. "Someone came. But it didn't matter. He died in hospital two weeks later. He never woke up." 

"Oh," breathed Remus. "I'm sorry." 

"He died," Sirius repeated helplessly, swallowing the sob that threatened to choke him, "and it was all my fault." 

Remus shook his head. "No, it wasn't." 

"It was," said Sirius, taking a deep, shaky breath and fighting to regain his composure. "My parents think so. They can barely stand to look at me since it happened." 

"How old were you?" asked Remus. 

"Ten," he whispered. "Regs was only eight." 

"You didn't know." Remus's voice was firm but gentle. "Kids don't think about things like danger and getting hurt. They just see something that looks like fun and they do it. You can't blame yourself for acting like a kid. You said it yourself; your brother was a good climber. It was an accident. A stupid thing that happened. You couldn't've known, and you couldn't've stopped it." 

"Maybe." It was a comforting thought, and Sirius wanted to believe it, but the guilt that gnawed at his guts was too huge and had been with him for too long to be dispelled by a few words. 

"Thank you for telling me," said Remus, soft voice sincere. "I know it can't have been easy." 

Sirius sighed wearily. His secret was out, and Remus did not think him a monster or a murderer. Sirius was not convinced, but knowing that Remus did not think ill of him made him feel ever so slightly better. "Thanks. For -- yeah. But --" 

"What?" 

"Potter and Pettigrew -- they don't know," Sirius admitted. "About Regs. Could you maybe not say anything?" 

"Potter doesn't know?" Remus sounded surprised. 

Sirius bit his lip. "He knows my brother's dead. I never told him what happened." 

"He won't hear it from me," Remus promised. 

"Thanks," said Sirius again. "You're a real mate, Lupin."


	3. An Inconvenient Infatuation

Light spilled out the door of the village community centre as the boys of St Godric's hurried inside, scuffing their feet on the mat and shaking their umbrellas. The hall, which doubled as the village pub on Wednesdays and Fridays, was transformed by balloons and streamers in autumn colours. The students, on the other hand, looked much the same as they usually did in their starchy and unstylish school uniforms. 

"Let's grab a table before they're all gone," said James, herding the others ahead of him. 

Peter looked around hopefully. "Are the girls here yet?" 

"You'll know it when they are, mate," laughed Sirius, "all the noise they make." 

"It's a bit chilly," commented Remus, who had surprised them all by deciding to come at the last minute. He caught Sirius's smirk, guessed its meaning, and added, "I don't mind. I just thought other people might." 

"It'll warm up quick enough with everyone packed in here," James assured him. 

The four of them sat down at one of the small round tables clustered at one end of the hall. Peter immediately stood up again. 

"I'll get the drinks!" he declared, but Sirius knew he just wanted an excuse to peer out the window and see the girls when their coach arrived. 

He hurried back a moment later, nearly slopping punch down his front in his excitement. "They're here! They're here!" 

The girls of St Helga's came through the doors shrieking and laughing and shaking off the rain. They stayed in a tightly-packed flock, staring around the room, giggling and whispering behind their hands before rushing _en masse_ to the toilets to fix their hair and do whatever else large groups of females did behind closed doors. Sirius largely ignored them, but grinned to see several of his schoolfellows stand up a little straighter, their walks becoming struts. 

"I think I saw Maddy," said Peter, taking a sip of punch and almost missing his mouth. 

"I definitely saw Evans. That hair is hard to miss." Unlike the other boys, James had arranged himself in his chair in an artful slouch, carding his fingers through his unruly black hair. 

Sirius rolled his eyes. He had his share of fun, snogging and even doing a bit of furtive groping every now and then, but he had never gone silly over a bloke like his friends did about girls. It was hard to believe that James was one of the cleverest boys at school, the way he carried on about Lily Evans. 

When the redhead emerged from the toilets, accompanied by an entourage of giggling friends, James rose, eyes already on his prize. "The bet's on, lads. Wish me luck." 

"And that's the last we'll see of him tonight," sighed Sirius. 

Remus turned to Peter as the four piece band in the opposite corner began to tune up. "What about you, Pettigrew?" 

Peter sank lower in his chair and buried his flaming face in his punch glass. "Maybe in a bit," he mumbled. 

"See what I mean?" smirked Sirius. "Too scared to even talk to her. How he ever thought he could convince us he got into her knickers --" 

"What's the worst that can happen?" said Remus, giving Peter an encouraging smile. "All she can say is 'no'." 

"She might laugh," Peter said miserably. 

"I never heard of anyone who died of being laughed at," Remus told him. "Think about it. If she says 'no', at least you'll know. If she laughs, well, these things aren't compulsory, are they? You don't have to come next time if you don't want to. And she might say 'yes'." 

"You think?" Peter's blue eyes were wide and trusting in the face of Remus's logic. 

"I think it's worth a try." 

"Better than sitting here like a lump all night," said Sirius, realising that if they got rid of Peter, he might get to enjoy a little one-on-one time with Remus. 

"Yeah, I guess." Peter took a deep, steadying breath and got to his feet, looking pale. "Here I go, lads." 

"Good luck," said Remus. "Think he's in with a chance?" he asked as the shorter boy marched away, shoulders squared. 

Sirius shrugged. "Better than Potter has with Evans. I did mention that she slapped him last time, didn't I?" 

"What about you?" Remus asked. "Aren't you going to try to win your bet?" 

"Just waiting for someone to catch my eye," said Sirius airily. _Someone who's not my roommate._

Their whispered conversation of two nights before had only increased Sirius's interest in Remus. Now, it was not only distracting thoughts about the quiet boy's mouth or hands or eyes; it was a deeper enjoyment of simply being in his company, and an irrational dislike of being out of it. Infatuation was not a new experience for Sirius, but this was proving rather more tenacious and difficult to ignore than the garden variety. He hoped it would go away soon. 

Remus had just opened his mouth to say something, when a voice from behind Sirius said, "My friend wants to know if you'd like to dance." 

Sirius groaned, turning to eye the tall blonde girl and the blushing brunette who hung back at her shoulder. "I'm not into girls," he said bluntly. 

"Oh!" The blonde's eyes widened in shock, and she glanced from Sirius to Remus. "Are you -- um -- together?" 

Remus blushed redder than the blonde's friend, and Sirius hastily said, "No, nothing like that." 

"OK." The blonde girl hesitated for a moment. "Would _you_ like to dance with my friend, then?" 

Remus shook his head, giving the girls a lopsided smile. "I don't dance. But thank you for asking." 

The girls had turned away, looking disappointed, when Remus suddenly said, "You're friends with Lily Evans, aren't you? I saw you come in with her." 

Sirius raised his eyebrows. How had Remus noticed a thing like that? There was nothing particularly notable about these girls. They looked just like all the others, so far as Sirius was concerned. 

"I'm Alice Finch," said the blonde, holding out her hand to Remus. "This is Dorcas Meadowes." 

"Remus Lupin," said Remus, shaking the offered hand. "And my rude friend here is Sirius Black. Would you care to join us?" 

"Black like the Shellingham Blacks?" Finch asked, taking Peter's vacant seat next to Remus. 

"Exactly like," said Sirius blandly, schooling his expression to mask his true feelings about a pair of girls horning in on his evening with Remus. 

"Our roommate, James Potter, has a real thing for your friend," Remus confided. 

The girls exchanged a look. "We know," giggled Meadowes. "He's been after her for ages." 

"So I gathered," said Remus drily. "Is he getting anywhere?" 

"Set you to spy for him, has he?" Finch asked shrewdly. 

Remus shook his head. "I'm just curious." 

Sirius was amazed. He would never have pegged quiet, studious Remus as being good at talking to girls, yet here he was, chatting casually with two of them, as if they were normal people. Stamping out a weed of jealousy, Sirius listened intently. James would want to know what the girls had to say. Once he thought about it, he could see the wisdom in cultivating an acquaintance with the friends of one's quarry. At least, if one was interested in girls and knew how to talk to them. 

"I think she likes him a little bit," admitted Meadowes. "At least, she seems to enjoy complaining about him." 

Finch nodded in agreement. "She says he's pushy and up himself, and that if he really liked her, he would try to get to know her, instead of just going on about how good he is at rugby all the time." 

"That seems more than fair," said Remus. 

"What's the point of getting to know someone if you just want to get into their knickers?" Sirius muttered. 

The girls looked scandalised, but Remus merely raised his eyebrows. " _Does_ he just want to get into her knickers? Seems to me that he's going to an awful lot of trouble over one particular girl, if that's all he's interested in." 

Sirius shrugged irritably. "I don't know. Maybe not." 

"Potter's a decent bloke," Remus told the girls. "You probably wouldn't know it from the way he acts around your friend, but he's one of the best in our year, and Black here could vouch for what a good friend he is, if he cared to." 

"Yeah," said Sirius hastily. "He's always been ace to have around. Looks out for his mates, you know?" 

Finch gave them a knowing look. "We'll be sure to take back a good report." 

"I'm sure he would appreciate that." Remus gave her a rare smile. "What about Maddy Yaxley? Our other roommate fancies her." 

Finch pursed her lips. "Your friend wants to watch himself. Yaxley's trouble." 

"How do you mean?" asked Remus. 

"She -- gets around with boys from the village," Finch said primly. "And men. I mean, a lot of girls fool around, and no one really cares, but --" 

"She's not very nice," supplied Meadowes. "She uses people. You can't trust her." 

Sirius glanced across the dance floor to where Peter was dancing with a pretty, dark-haired girl, looking awestruck. "She seems to like Pettigrew all right." 

Finch frowned. "If all _he's_ looking for is to get into someone's knickers, then he'll have no trouble, so long as he uses protection." 

" _Alice!_ " cried Meadowes, shocked. 

The girls remained a few moments longer, until a boy called Frank Longbottom came over and asked Finch to dance. Meadowes, too shy to stay and talk to two boys by herself, left soon after. 

"That was decent of you," said Sirius grudgingly. "Getting the low-down for Potter and Pettigrew. Where'd you learn to talk to girls like that?" 

Remus shrugged. "I have a sister." 

It was the first time Remus had mentioned anything about his family or his background in the two weeks that Sirius had known him. He carefully filed the information away in the compartment of his brain labelled "Remus Lupin". Aside from the fact that the other boy got into fights, smoked grass, read a lot, had nightmares, and had a mouth that looked made for kissing, Sirius still knew very little about him. 

"So what would it take to get you onto the dance floor?" he asked, throwing Remus a teasing smile. "If the girl of your dreams showed up and asked you to dance, would you do it?" _What would he say if I asked him?_ he wondered silently. 

"It would take someone pretty special to get me out there. I really don't like dancing." Remus shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Sirius noted that his cheeks were flushed. "It's getting a bit warm in here, isn't it?" 

"Yeah, a little." 

Sirius watched, mesmerised, as Remus shrugged out of his school jacket, tugged loose his tie, and undid his top shirt button. The shadow of his collarbone was just visible through the open neck of his shirt. Sirius imagined running his tongue along the curve of it. 

"What are you two boring tossers up to?" 

Sirius jumped as James barged into his momentary fantasy and set two fresh glasses of punch on the table. 

"I thought you might fancy a refill." 

"Thanks," said Sirius, lifting the glass to his lips. He caught the strong whiff of alcohol and paused. "Oh. Thanks, mate. Yeah, definitely." He raised his eyebrows at Remus. 

Remus returned the look and lifted his own glass, brown eyes going wide as he made the same discovery Sirius had. He tilted his head back and took a long swallow. Sirius wondered how drunk they would have to be before he could kiss Remus and play it off as a joke. His eyes fixed longingly on the other boy's pale throat as his Adam's apple bobbed. He shook himself and turned back to his best friend. 

"How're things going with Evans?" 

"Not as well as I'd hoped," James admitted. "Can I ask you something? Privately?" 

"Sure." Sirius stood up and followed James into an empty corner. "What's up?" 

James rounded on him. "Watch it, mate," he said in a low, earnest voice. "You know he's not like that." 

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Sirius said with as much dignity as he could muster. 

"Don't give me that," snapped James. "I saw the way you were looking at him just now. Get over it. Fast. He doesn't know you like I do, but he's bound to notice sooner or later if you keep making eyes at him. We don't need the kind of trouble that would cause." 

"I'll bear that in mind," said Sirius loftily. "And now I believe there's punch that wants drinking." 

"What did Potter want?" asked Remus when Sirius returned to the table. 

"What? Oh, nothing." Sirius groped about for a quick lie. "He saw us talking to Evans's friends. He just wanted to know what they said." 

"Right," said Remus distractedly. 

"Are you all right, mate?" Sirius asked. 

"Hmm? Oh, yeah. Fine." 

Sirius dragged his attention away from Remus's exposed throat to the revolving mass of adolescents on the dance floor. Peter stood against the far wall, mournfully watching Yaxley dance with someone else. James hovered at Evans's shoulder. The redhead had her back pointedly turned to him, her head bent in conversation with Finch and Meadowes. When a new song began, James touched the girl's elbow and said something. Evans closed her eyes briefly, looking annoyed, then turned to James. Sirius could not hear what she said, but he saw her mouth form the words _fuck off_ in the middle of it. James blinked, then bowed, grinning, and turned to her friends. Meadowes quickly accepted his invitation to dance. 

Sirius laughed at the irate look on Evans's face. "Maybe he _can_ learn. God, look how her face clashes with her hair!" 

Remus did not reply, but sat slumped in his seat, plucking at his tie. 

"Lupin?" said Sirius, brow furrowing with concern. 

The other boy stood, mumbled something about the toilets, and hurried away, but instead of turning towards the gents', Remus pushed open the main doors of the hall and disappeared outside. Sirius hesitated for a moment, then followed. 

The earlier rain had turned to a heavy mist, and Sirius belatedly realised he had left his jacket draped over the back of his chair. Remus stood in the shadows, leaning against the wall of the building. He did not look up when Sirius took the spot beside him. 

"You sure you're all right, mate?" 

"Yeah," said Remus, breath clouding in the chill. "Just needed some air. You should go back in. You'll freeze." 

"I'll be OK," Sirius told him. "You're right. It was a bit warm in there." 

The hall door opened, setting a patch of mist aglow, and Professor McGonagall stuck her head out. 

"Ah, there you are," she said, prim Scottish voice edged with suspicion. "Just making sure nothing was -- amiss." 

"It's all right, Ma'am," said Remus, correctly divining her intent. "I've been warned about him." 

Sirius gave the English mistress an impish grin. "He's in no danger from me, Professor. I swear." 

She pursed her lips in disapproval. "If you are not back inside in three minutes, you will both be doing lines until you can't feel your fingers." 

The door closed and Sirius sighed. "She doesn't trust me." 

"Is she wrong?" asked Remus, quiet voice unreadable. 

Sirius blushed, glad of the darkness. He had just been thinking how easy it would be to kiss the boy beside him. 

"You've been alone with me before, and I didn't jump on you," he said, covering his embarrassment with a frown. "I don't go around snogging people who aren't up for it." 

"Admirable," said Remus drily. "If I ever decide I want a snog, I'll be sure to let you know straight away." 

Sirius did not trust himself to reply. "We should go back in," he said. "I hate writing lines." 

* * *

"You saw it, didn't you?" said James for the tenth time. "She spoke to me! I think she's softening up." 

The four of them were stumbling back up to the school in the darkness, a few paces behind the main herd of their classmates. 

"She told you to fuck off, mate," Sirius reminded him yet again. "Not exactly 'take me now, you sexy beast,' is it? The bet's null." 

"I almost won!" declared Peter. "I got to dance with Maddy, at least." He shot Remus a grateful smile. 

"I would have won if I hadn't had the world's worst haircut this week," said Sirius. He was feeling pleasantly lightheaded, having accounted for rather more than his share of James's contraband, and had contrived to stumble into Remus once already, feeling the heat of his body through the thin fabric of his shirt as the other boy grabbed his arm to steady him. 

"You?" snorted James. "You didn't even try." 

Sirius knew his friend was right. He had been so focussed on Remus that he had not even thought about any of the other boys. 

_Get a grip on yourself, Black,_ he chided himself. _What's so brilliant about Lupin, anyway? I mean, all right, he has that mouth and those fingers and those eyes. Nice arse, too. But that's no reason to start hyperventilating just because he's unbuttoned his collar._

He glanced at his new friend beneath lowered lashes. The collar in question was still unbuttoned, the exposed throat begging to be nuzzled. Sirius sighed. 

When they arrived at the school, Remus mumbled a vague excuse about needing to check on something, and turned towards the administrative building for his nightly medication charade. James and Peter, whom Sirius had not seen fit to enlighten, looked after him curiously as they continued to the dormitories. 

Back at their room, Sirius grabbed his toothbrush, toothpaste, and a few other necessaries, but he did not head immediately to the bathroom. He had more pressing needs, better dealt with in private. Glancing around to make certain he was alone, he ducked into the small private study room afforded him as an A-level student. 

Privacy was a rare luxury at St Godric's, and certain kinds of necessary relief frequently had to be put off for hours, or even days. But Sirius could be fairly certain of a few minutes alone here. He hardly ever used the study, and it was not a place his friends were likely to come looking for him, especially at this time of night. 

Pulling a hastily-stowed wad of tissues from his pocket, he unbuttoned his trousers, leaned back against the desk, and once more summoned up the image of full lips, brown eyes, and an enticing curve of collarbone. 

When he finally fell into bed half an hour later, a warm glow of satisfaction still radiated from his groin, and he fell asleep almost immediately with a smile on his face.


	4. The Stolen Boy

"No! No, _please_!" 

Sirius blinked, disoriented, into the darkness. Somewhere at the other end of the room, Peter was snoring. 

" _Don't_ \--" The word was little more than a broken sob. 

Sirius sat up, tugging back the dividing curtain. "Lupin?" 

His roommate struggled against his blankets, fighting phantoms in the moonlight, clearly in the grip of a nightmare. 

"Lupin!" Sirius hissed, grabbing the boy by the shoulder and shaking him roughly. "Remus, wake up!" 

Hard knuckles connected with Sirius's mouth, and he fell back with a cry of surprise, crashing into the side of his own bed as he went down. 

On the other side, James sat up. "Whozzat?" 

"It's nothing," Sirius assured him, prodding his lower lip experimentally with his tongue. It was split, but not bleeding too badly. "Just a dream, Potter. Go back to sleep." 

James subsided back onto his pillow, and began to breathe deeply almost at once. He had never been fully conscious. 

Remus leaned halfway out the open window, breathing in the cold, misty night air in deep, ragged gulps. Sirius pulled himself to his feet and approached him warily. Remus was trembling, and Sirius did not think that it was from the cold. 

"Are you all right?" he whispered. 

"Don't -- don't touch me," Remus gasped. 

"I won't," promised Sirius. He hovered behind the other boy uncertainly. 

Remus closed his eyes, took a few more deep breaths, then drew his head back into the room. He turned and slid down the wall to sit on the floor, forehead resting on his drawn-up knees. Sirius hesitantly sat down beside him. 

Remus broke the silence first. His voice was rough and muffled against the fabric of his pyjama-clad knees. "They think those bloody pills will help," he said bitterly. "What the fuck do they know?" 

"What are they for?" Sirius asked again. 

Remus did not look at him, but tilted his head back to rest against the wall. "Sleeping. They think I don't get enough sleep. But I'd rather be tired all the time than be stuck in the middle of one of those dreams and not be able to wake up." 

"Oh," said Sirius, thinking of his own nightmares. "I wouldn't take them either, if it were me." 

"They think that if they just shove enough chemicals into me, I'll get better. But I'm not _ill_ , am I? It's not some bloody virus that will go away if they find the right medication." 

"What is it, then?" Sirius only half expected an answer. 

Remus gave a huff of humourless laughter. "Same thing as you, I guess. They call it PTSD, though." 

Sirius's brows drew together in puzzlement. "PTSD? What's that stand for?" 

"Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder," Remus explained. "It's a fancy way of saying that something bad happened, and sometimes I have a hard time dealing with it." 

Sirius had never thought of his recurring dreams about his brother's death as an illness with a name before, but Remus's description seemed to fit. 

"What happened to you?" he asked. 

Remus shook his head, closing his eyes again. "You don't want to know." 

Sirius looked helplessly at his friend. He did not want to pry, but -- "I felt better. The other night, after I told you. I mean, I don't think I'm cured or anything, but maybe it helped a little bit, talking about it." 

Remus looked at him, and caught sight of Sirius's swollen lip. "Did I do that?" 

"Yeah," said Sirius. "But it's OK. I shouldn't've grabbed you like I did." 

"No," agreed Remus. "You felt better because you thought what happened to your brother was your fault, and I told you it wasn't. I already know that what happened to me wasn't my fault -- not really -- and I've already had to talk to lots of people about it. It didn't help." 

"You don't have to tell me," said Sirius. "But if you do, I swear I'll never breathe a word to anyone. I swear it on -- on my brother's grave. You can trust me." 

Remus's eyes searched Sirius's face. Sirius met his gaze, unblinking. The stillness of the night hung between them as Sirius held his breath. 

"All right," Remus said at last. "You think you want to know?" 

He looked away -- like Sirius, he found it easier to talk without looking at his confessor -- and he began to speak in a quiet, dull voice. 

"We were on holiday in Guernsey. My parents and my sister and I. I was six. I was going through this thing where I thought my parents loved my sister more than me, but it was just that she was three and she needed them more than I did. I know that now. I was angry about them fussing over her one day while we were in town, and I wandered off on my own." 

Remus closed his eyes, hands clenching around his knees. "He found me. Fenrir Greyback. I knew I wasn't supposed to talk to strangers. I should have yelled when he grabbed me, but I was too scared. I thought I would be in trouble for wandering off. He took me to a house in the countryside. Locked me away in a stuffy little room with no window. And he -- he hurt me and -- made me do things. I was with him for months." 

"Jesus," whispered Sirius, horrified. 

"You'd think that would be the worst of it, wouldn't you?" said Remus hollowly. "But every day, he would tell me that my parents didn't want me anymore -- that they were angry with me for running away -- that I belonged to him now. And I believed him." 

Silence stretched between them like a chasm. Sirius had no words to express the feeling of sick horror that welled up inside him at Remus's confession. 

"I think he would have killed me, in the end," Remus whispered. "After the police finally found me, there was a trial, of course, and I found out that there had been another boy before me who died. Anthony Montgomery." 

Sirius must have made a sound, because Remus raised his head and looked at him. 

"Sometimes I wish he had killed me," he said, voice hollow. "So many nights, I end up right back there. I can feel his hands on me and hear him telling me that my parents don't want me -- that this is what happens to little boys who run away." A look of revulsion crossed his face. "Sometimes I can even smell him." 

Sirius felt ill. He desperately wanted to offer Remus comfort, but he had none to give. Words felt empty, and to touch him unasked in any way after what had happened to him seemed wrong. 

"Does it get any easier?" he asked. "I mean, you're older now, aren't you? It was a long time ago." 

Remus shook his head. "No. You'd think so, but there's always something or someone to remind me of it. Sometimes little things you'd never expect catch me out and wreck me for days. And the dreams keep it fresh, like it's only just happened. You know that." 

Sirius nodded. "At least my parents never made me take pills for it." 

"Your parents blame you for what happened," Remus said bluntly. "My parents blame themselves. We used to have money, but a lot of it went on private shrinks and doctors and therapies that didn't work. One of the shrinks touched me, too. He said it was an 'experimental method' where you were meant to act out the things that had happened to you in order to understand how they affected you. I stopped talking to any of the doctors after that." 

"But he was meant to be helping you!" gasped Sirius, shocked. "How could he --?" 

Remus shook his head. "Some people, they figure once you've been through a thing like that, you can't get any more broken than you already are, so they might as well have a go. There was a boy at my last school who thought that, too. He found out somehow, and he thought he could make me do things with him in exchange for him not spreading it around the school. So I beat him to a bloody pulp. That _did_ make me feel better, actually." A corner of Remus's mouth turned up briefly. 

Guilt squirmed in Sirius's guts. He would never have dreamed of trying to force himself on Remus, but suddenly his idle fancies of catching the boy unawares and kissing him made him feel like a villain. It was no wonder Remus had told him to keep his hands to himself. Sirius was surprised the other boy did not hate him on principle for his sexuality. Sirius would have understood if he had. 

"So," said Remus, eyes measuring, gauging Sirius's reaction to his story, "are you sorry you asked?" 

Sirius bit his lip. "No. But -- I am sorry I grabbed you tonight. And I'm sorry I shut the window all those times." Now that he knew, Sirius thought he would rather set himself on fire than take away that one small comfort from Remus. 

"You didn't know." 

"No," agreed Sirius. "But I do now. I -- thanks. For trusting me. I know you didn't want to tell. If anyone at this school ever gives you trouble, you let me know. I'll sort them out." 

"Thanks." Remus's smile twitched momentarily back into existence. "I can take care of myself. But I think maybe you were a little bit right. I might be able to sleep tonight." 

"Well, that's something." Sirius was not sure if he would ever be able to sleep again. 

"You should get back to bed, too. You're all covered in gooseflesh." 

Remus's fingers brushed Sirius's wrist, and Sirius swallowed hard. He longed to take Remus's hand, but if he did, Remus might never speak to him again. He might even hit him. 

"G'night, Sirius," Remus said softly, getting to his feet. He did not offer Sirius a hand up, for which Sirius was both relieved and disappointed. 

"Yeah. G'night." 

He struggled up from the floor, stiff-kneed, and staggered back to his own bed, falling into it as pins and needles rushed up through his feet, but Sirius barely felt them. The hollow ache in his chest and the tightness in his throat left no room inside him for anything but helpless rage and the desire to protect Remus from any further harm.


	5. Unguarded

"You'll be late for breakfast if you don't get your arse out of bed in the next two minutes, Black." 

_James._ The name swam to the surface of Sirius's sluggish mind. He forced his puffy eyes open, wincing as the cold morning light stuck pins in his brain. 

"You know what will happen if you skip chapel again." A dark face with messy black hair and bespectacled hazel eyes swam into view above him. "You look like shit, mate. What happened to your mouth?" 

Sirius opened the mouth in question to reply, but no sound emerged. He swallowed painfully, throat swollen almost shut. Licking dry lips, he grimaced as his tongue prodded the split in the lower one. 

"Just -- chapped," he wheezed. 

Two paler figures joined James at his bedside. The looks on their faces made Sirius feel like a rather dubious cut of meat. He sat up, and immediately winced again as his head gave a painful throb. 

"Are you OK?" asked Peter. 

"You can't be hung over," said James. "You didn't have that much to drink last night." 

"I think he's ill." Guilt lurked beneath Remus's look of concern. 

Sirius tried to speak again, then made a face, turning to swing his legs out of bed. He reached for his clothes, but staggered as his head spun disconcertingly. James caught him. 

"Easy there, mate. Maybe we ought to let Pomfrey have a look at you." 

"M'OK," objected Sirius in a harsh whisper. It was a lie. His whole body felt achy and shivery and his skin prickled unpleasantly all over. 

"The hell you are." James rolled his eyes. "This is what happens when _some people_ leave the window open all night." 

Remus turned away, mouth tight. 

"S'nothing. M'fine," Sirius rasped, but his argument carried as little weight as his legs, and he leaned heavily on his best friend's arm. 

"We're going to miss breakfast." Sirius was not certain if the concern in Peter's voice was for him or for the thought of a missed meal. 

James sighed. "You two go ahead; I'll see this lump to the matron." 

"I can --" began Remus. 

"No, it's fine," said James. He grabbed Sirius's wool coat from the peg by the bed and shoved it into his hands. "Here. Put this on. If you snuff it on the way to the infirmary, I'm not carrying you." 

Sirius stumbled along the path, shivering in the chilly morning air, James's iron grip on his arm keeping him upright and moving. 

"Why don't you tell him to shut the sodding window?" he asked irritably. "Are you so desperate for a shag that you'd rather freeze your tits off than tell him to stuff it?" 

"S'not like that," Sirius mumbled. 

"Sure it isn't," scoffed James. "You're telling me you wouldn't be flat on your back if he looked at you twice? Or on all fours? However it is you lot do it." He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. Get over it. It's not going to happen." 

"I know," wheezed Sirius, feeling miserable in more ways than one. 

He felt too ill to complain much as Madam Pomfrey tucked him into the lumpy infirmary bed and James departed to grab a quick breakfast before chapel. The room was warm, at the very least, and Pomfrey supplied him with a hot water bottle for his feet, as well as a steady stream of tea with honey and lemon. Sirius tried to sleep for a while, but failed, which left him nothing to do but think. 

The previous night's conversation with Remus ran through his mind in an unending loop. He did not want to think about it, but his woozy brain kept bringing him back to it. The shadowy figure of the man who had kidnapped Remus took on a hulking, brutish aspect in his mind, and it was all too easy to imagine Remus, six years old, weeping for his parents and his stolen innocence. Would Sirius ever be able to look at him again without thinking about what had happened to him? He desperately hoped so. Sirius would not want people thinking of Regulus every time they looked at him. Little wonder that Remus had been reluctant to tell. 

Sirius closed his eyes and thought of Remus, pushing away the memory of their conversation as if it had been only another bad dream. Instead, he imagined Remus as he was now: sixteen and gangly, honey-brown hair falling into wary brown eyes, the long straight nose, the full curve of a mouth only rarely visited by laughter -- 

With a huff of annoyance, Sirius turned over, shaking off the image as guilt poked at him. He should not be thinking of Remus like that, either. That ripe, full mouth was triply off limits now: Remus was straight, and he was a roommate, and he had already suffered more than enough unwanted attention for one lifetime. Sirius had no right to think such things about him. 

_He's a friend,_ he told himself irritably. _Not like James, but he could be someday if you'd just stop thinking stupid thoughts about him._

But with nothing else to occupy him, his treacherous brain kept drifting back to his quiet roommate throughout the afternoon: Remus's open collar at the previous night's social. Remus blowing the stray hairs off the back of his neck after his haircut. Remus with a joint in his hand, grinning mischievously. Remus's mouth against his own, long-fingered hands twining in Sirius's hair as their bodies pressed urgently together .... 

Fortunately, he was too ill to entertain the last thought to its conclusion, and he was somewhat relieved -- though more disappointed than he cared to admit -- when Remus did not accompany James and Peter to visit him that evening after supper. His friends had brought playing cards, and they played a few hands of Rummy, which James won, Sirius being ill and distracted, and Peter having no great skill at cards. 

It was only when his friends departed and Pomfrey returned that he remembered Remus's nightly appointments with the matron. Of course Remus had stayed away while James and Peter visited the infirmary; it would have been difficult for him to come up with a credible reason for hanging back after the others left. Sirius watched the matron take down a bottle of pills and shake two into a small paper cup. When he heard footsteps approaching in the corridor outside, he briefly considered feigning sleep, but Remus would know that the others had only just left him. 

The brown-haired boy gave him one brief, furtive look before dropping his eyes guiltily to his feet. "Hey," he mumbled. 

"Hey," croaked Sirius, unable to think of anything intelligent to add. 

_Are you sorry you told me?_ he wanted to ask, but with Pomfrey standing there, narrowly watching Remus pretend to take his medication, he could not. 

Sirius was just opening his mouth, still unsure what he planned to say, when Remus turned away and walked quickly out of the infirmary, with no more than a hasty "g'night" as the door swung shut behind him. 

Sirius settled back on the lumpy pillow, feeling more miserable than ever. 

That night, he dreamed. The visions did not have the usual lucidity of his nightmares, but were instead a dark, confused jumble of images of the kind that so often accompany illness and fever. Regulus was there, but sometimes Sirius caught a glimpse of Remus in his face. Instead of challenging Sirius to a race up the beach cliffs, he told him they were going to Guernsey. A threatening presence lurked somewhere just out of sight, and Sirius kept trying to manoeuvre himself between it and Regulus/Remus. He woke in the predawn darkness and could not get back to sleep. 

By morning, Sirius had developed a deep cough that tore at his chest and shook his entire body every time it gripped him. His head was painfully congested, and even under the blankets in the stifling room, he shivered. The only bright side to his deteriorated condition was that the matron dosed him heavily with her special blend of cough syrup, which was legendary among the students of St Godric's, and was widely rumoured to contain some form of opiate in addition to a high percentage of alcohol. Sirius dozed for a few hours in the morning, and spent the afternoon drifting just on the surface of consciousness, unable to think or feel very much. 

Late afternoon light slanted through the infirmary window when chair legs scraped the floor beside Sirius's bed. Very slowly, he turned his head to regard the visitor. 

"Oh, s'you." A wide smile blossomed across his face. 

The corner of Remus's mouth twitched. "Feeling better?" 

Sirius thought for a moment. Or tried to. "Yes?" 

"You look like hell," said Remus. Then dropped his voice to add, "Been sleeping all right?" 

Sirius's head wobbled back and forth in response, setting his brain crashing around in his skull. He winced. 

"I thought not," frowned Remus. "I've brought copies of all my notes from today's lessons, but you don't look in any fit state for them." 

Sirius blinked at him. "Din't hafta do that." 

"It's my fault you froze your arse off," said Remus, looking uncomfortable. "Sorry." 

"Don' be daft," Sirius smiled. It was easy to smile when he was looking at Remus. Slowly, he raised a hand that felt like it weighed four stone, and let it fall onto Remus's knee, patting heavily. 

Remus looked startled for a moment, then laid his own hand over it, squeezing Sirius's fingers. "You should get some more rest." 

Sirius frowned, turning his hand over to clutch weakly at Remus's fingers. "Don' go." 

Remus squeezed his hand again, then moved it back to the bed beside him, letting go. "Save your strength. Potter and Pettigrew will be along after supper again. I think they've missed you. Potter got himself two detentions today, and Pettigrew had to do about fifty lines for McGonagall." 

"D'you miss me?" Sirius asked sleepily. 

The corner of Remus's mouth curled up again ever so slightly. "Maybe a bit. Get some rest. I'll be back later." 

Sirius was already half asleep, so he probably imagined the light brush of fingers against his cheek. He was completely unconscious by the time the door closed softly behind Remus. 

* * *

Sirius spent two further days in the infirmary, his increasing boredom and irritability signaling to anyone who got too close that he was on the mend. On Wednesday night, he was finally allowed to return to the dormitories and the relative comfort of his own bed. The cough persisted for a few days more, but on the whole, Sirius was glad to be back on his feet and getting on with things. 

He was not, however, any closer to getting _over_ things. Remus still occupied a large percentage of his thoughts, and even though he tried getting out and spending more time with James, which resulted in a couple of detentions, his mind inevitably drifted back to the quiet boy. He was drawn to him like the needle of a compass, and it seemed there was nothing he could do about it, anymore than he could confess his feelings to Remus. 

Despite Sirius's attempts to put some distance between them, fate conspired to give him and Remus more time alone together. Peter's choir rehearsals were rescheduled so that they coincided with James's rugby practice. Since Sirius hated using his private study room for its intended purpose, and Remus seemed disinclined to use his own, the two of them could be found on their respective beds for several hours of each week, Remus reading, and Sirius trying to look as though he were. 

Sometimes, Sirius struck up conversation in the vain hope that the weight in his chest would dissipate into friendship, though a not-so-small part of Sirius knew that talking to Remus was just an excuse to look at him. He already knew that Remus had a dry wit that only came out around people with whom he felt comfortable, but during the first weeks of November, Sirius learned other things about him, too. 

Remus had a knack for making history sound interesting. He saw the same innate beauty in mathematics that Sirius himself did. He was patient when he explained difficult concepts and helped Peter with his school work. Remus was not just someone pleasant to look at, who might be fun to snog a few times, and he was not a friend like James, with whom Sirius could talk about everything and nothing. He was something in between, but also something more. Sirius had never really wanted anything more; _more_ made life complicated. 

Sirius spent much of his time distracted, daydreaming about kissing his soft-spoken friend, sneaking off for private wanks, and feeling guilty about it afterwards, because it was _Remus_ , and he should not be having those kinds of thoughts about him. Remus did not like boys, and he did not like to be touched. If he ever found out how Sirius felt, he would probably be horrified and disgusted, and then they would not even be friends anymore, so Sirius did his best to bury his interest. 

The nights when the dreams woke them were both the worst and the best. Neither of them was able to sleep through the terrors of the other anymore, and they would talk, sometimes for hours, until the dreams faded and they were able to sleep again. They did not talk about the dreams -- not directly -- but the dreams brought other things to mind that, hesitantly, they began to share, exhaustion and darkness and quiet conspiring to lower their guard. On those nights, Sirius felt closest to Remus, and least able to do anything about it. 

"I miss Regs," Sirius confessed one night. "I always wonder what he would've been like, if he'd grown up." 

"D'you ever talk to him?" Remus asked sleepily. They lay curled on their sides, facing one another across the narrow gap between their beds. 

Sirius bit his lip. "No," he said guiltily. "I guess I don't figure he'd want to hear from me." 

"D'you think he's -- out there somewhere?" 

"Dunno. Sometimes, 'specially when I'm home, I turn around half expecting to see him standing there. What d'you think?" Sirius had found that Remus thought about things more than most boys their age, and he was always curious to know the other boy's thoughts. 

"I dunno either," admitted Remus. "But -- maybe. I think, if he is out there, he probably misses you, too." 

"You don't think he'd -- you know -- blame me for what happened?" 

"If he could see you," Remus said slowly, "I think he'd see how sorry you are, and how much it hurt you, losing him. If there was anything to forgive, he'd forgive you." 

When Remus's own dreams found him, Sirius never again made the mistake of trying to wake him with a touch, but instead would whisper as loudly as he dared, "Remus, it's a dream. Wake up!" Then Remus's eyes would fly open and his mouth would clamp shut and he would throw off the blankets and hang out the open window for long minutes, breathing in the night air, while Sirius lay curled up under his blankets, watching him and feeling useless. 

Eventually, Remus would come back to bed, looking hunted, but needing to talk, to take his mind off the horrors he could not outrun. Talking about his family seemed to soothe him most, and the first person he usually spoke of was his sister, Natalie. 

"She's brilliant," he told Sirius. "When I'm home and I -- wake up, it doesn't matter how quiet I am; she always knows. I don't even know how much she knows about -- what happened. She's never asked. But I'll go outside and sit on the step, and I'm never there more than five minutes before she's there with a mug of tea. Sometimes, when I can't sleep, I write to her." 

"We could probably get a kettle for the room," Sirius said. "If tea helps." 

Remus gave a low chuckle. "Such a mother hen. You remind me of her, sometimes." 

"I am not a mother hen!" hissed Sirius, scowling. 

Remus raised a sceptical eyebrow. "I caught you watching me three times today. You're always hovering over me." 

"Yeah, but --" sputtered Sirius, flustered. "That's not --" 

"Oh, isn't it?" Remus teased, smiling. "What do you call it, then?" 

Sirius had no answer for that -- at least, none that he could give Remus. Instead, he turned his back on the other boy in mock outrage at the insult he had suffered. He knew he should be offended at being compared to his friend's thirteen-year-old sister, but Remus always spoke of her with such affection that Sirius felt absurdly pleased. 

There was a huff of laughter from the other bed, and a fond voice whispered, "Good night, Sirius." 

"Good night, you tosser," he replied, knowing that Remus could hear the smile in his voice.


	6. Catalyst

It took an enormous effort of will, but gradually Sirius managed to drag his wayward feelings back under control. They were not any easier to bear -- alarmingly, they seemed to be growing stronger by the day -- but when Sirius was around his friends, he was able to hitch a smile onto his face and pretend, sometimes for several hours at a stretch, that all was well with him. 

Whenever his thoughts about Remus wandered in too intimate a direction, Sirius would pinch himself hard on the leg. It worked, though he now sported a large and tender bruise just above his left knee. He still felt a secret thrill at being in Remus's company, and at the affectionate regard in which the brown-eyed boy held him, but he tried not to dwell too much on such private pleasures. Friendship, he told himself, was much more worthwhile and lasting than the counterproductive thoughts he had previously entertained. 

It was good to be friends with Remus. Remus could make him laugh almost as much as James could. He was not anywhere near as swotty as Sirius had originally supposed, and delighted in doing wicked impersonations of their professors that had Peter holding his sides and James weeping with laughter. Even school work seemed to go a little faster with Remus's witty explanations of the murkier aspects of History and English. 

If Sirius occasionally caught himself staring at Remus's mouth, or sometimes had to dig his fingernails into his palm to keep himself from touching the other boy in passing, well, he was not likely to die of it. There were plenty of other boys in the world. Gaveston still gave him the eye on occasion; maybe next time Sirius would return his look. 

Meanwhile, there was plenty else to be getting on with. Lessons were harder, and the assignment load heavier, now that they were in the sixth form. Their professors were forever reminding them that the A-levels they achieved would greatly affect which universities were likely to accept them, as well as the careers they hoped to pursue. 

Peter was frantic, and had to be reminded by his friends to calm down at least three times a week. James was also growing more serious about his studies, and between school work and rugby, he had less time for the pranking he and Sirius normally delighted in. Sirius himself was not greatly concerned about his future. He was a gifted student and his marks were excellent when he made the effort, and decent even when he did not. Some university would be pleased to have him, and if not, his family was well-connected enough to secure him a good position somewhere. 

He experienced a moment of panic at the thought of being separated from Remus when they left St Godric's, two years hence, but told himself not to be ridiculous. He was not worried about the possibility of never seeing James again. He and Remus were friends. They would find time to visit one another, even when they no longer spent every day in each other's company. Sirius thought of asking Remus about his plans for the future, but decided against it. The temptation of aligning his own plans with Remus's might be too great to resist. 

In the hope of spurring their students' ambitions, many professors invited special guests into their classrooms to talk about their careers and how a strong understanding of various subjects was integral to them. They had an engineer in Maths, a doctor in Chemistry, a journalist in English, an MP in Citizenship, and in late November, an archaeologist in History. 

Sirius sat up straighter in his seat, exchanging an eager grin with James, when Professor Binns announced the visitor. History might be boring, but archaeology was not. According to the ratty paperback novels he sometimes borrowed from his best friend, it was all about adventuring and danger and finding long-lost treasure, usually made out of gold. Sirius eyed the guest as Binns droned on about his credentials, his position with English Heritage, and the importance of preserving the past, as if the visitor was not about to explain all of that for himself. 

He did not look like the adventuring type, but Sirius supposed it was not always possible to tell by looking. Archaeologists were supposed to be fit and tan and have beards. This man was clean-shaven and rather podgy-looking, with a bow tie and thick spectacles. He waited with an expression of polite patience for Binns to finish his long-winded introduction before stepping behind the podium at the front of the classroom. 

"Thank you, Prufessaw," he began, then turned to address the students. "There's uver twenty years I am travelan the wurld, oncoveran the 'idden secrets of the past." 

The man's broad accent and odd intonation were not immediately placeable, and drew titters from a few of the students. Sirius turned to share a grin with Remus, and stared. 

Remus had gone dead white. Even his lips had lost their usual rosy colour. His knuckles, too, were white where he gripped the edge of his desk, and the expression on his face was one Sirius had only seen on those nights when Remus had awakened in terror from nightmares of violation. 

_Guernsey,_ Sirius realised, heart sinking. _It's a Guernsey accent._

The voice of the speaker rattled on, but Sirius had lost all sense of the words. His only thought was of Remus -- how to distract him, or better yet, remove him from the situation entirely. Sirius knew better than to touch his friend in his current state, nor did he wish to draw attention to him. James and Peter and the rest of the class were enthralled by the speaker. No one had noticed Remus's odd reaction -- yet. 

"Remus?" he ventured a whisper. 

Slowly, Remus's head turned towards him, staring brown eyes fixed on his face, but he did not seem to see Sirius at all. 

"Remus, go to the loo or something," he begged. "Get out of here." 

Remus did not so much as blink. 

Tentatively, Sirius reached over to touch his friend lightly on the wrist. "Remus --" 

The boy reacted to the touch as if burned. He stood up so suddenly that his chair overturned, and bolted from the classroom. 

There was a moment of stunned silence as all eyes fixed on the slamming door. 

Binns leapt to his feet in an uncharacteristic display of temper, and waddled into the corridor, shouting, "Lupin! Get back here this instant!" 

"He's -- ah -- perhaps he's ill?" suggested Sirius, thinking quickly. "He said -- before -- he wasn't feeling well, Sir." 

James shot him a curious look. Remus had said nothing of the kind. 

Sirius stood, feeling shaky, body already inclined towards the door. "Shall I go check on him, Sir?" 

Binns looked torn, but at last flapped a hand at him in exasperation. "Yes, yes, Mr Black. Go and see that he makes it to the matron's office, if he is unwell. And come back directly," he added as Sirius, needing no further urging to follow his strongest impulse, hurried out the door. 

Sirius's heart was pounding as he hesitated in the corridor, looking up and down. Where would Remus have gone? Sirius was fairly certain he had not gone to the matron. She did not have anything for what troubled him. Stopping briefly to check the toilets, he left the building, eyes sweeping over the school grounds, but he did not see a living soul. 

"Remus?" he called, but of course there was no answer. 

Lacking a better idea, he headed to the dormitories, eyes scanning for any sign of movement. Remus was not in their room, nor was he in his study, nor the dormitory toilets. Sirius realised as he peered into the gloom of the stalls that he was being foolish. The last thing Remus would want in his current state was to be confined. He would be somewhere in the school grounds. As soon as Sirius thought it, he knew exactly where Remus was: somewhere outdoors, where he was unlikely to be found. 

Sirius had no wish to startle his traumatised friend, so he let his footsteps crunch heavily across the gravel path in the direction of the administrative offices. On the far side of the chapel, he turned off the path, palms sweating. 

Remus was there. He sat hunched, one shoulder leaned against the chapel wall, with his back to Sirius. He did not look up; he already knew who had found him. 

"Go away, Sirius," he said in a dead voice. 

"Remus --" Sirius edged around to face him. "Remus, I know you're upset. Talk to me, please. I --" 

The sight hit him like a punch in the gut. Remus's left sleeve was rolled up past his elbow, and he gripped a pocket knife in his white-knuckled right hand. Long, shallow cuts bled freely all up and down his forearm. 

Sirius fell to his knees with a cry. "Stop that! You're hurting yourself!" Quickly, he fished out a pocket handkerchief, and grasping Remus's hand, pressed the cloth to his wounded arm. Bright, bloody slashes soaked through the white linen almost instantly. 

Remus did not react, nor did he look up. "Go away," he said again dully. 

"No." 

Sirius squeezed Remus's blood-smeared fingers in his own as desperation welled up inside him. He had thought that he was helping -- that their late-night talks had somehow made Remus better, as he felt that he himself was better for talking out the darkness that haunted him -- but if Remus could do this to himself, then maybe he had made no difference at all. 

Sirius looked up hopelessly into Remus's face. More than anything, he wanted this quiet, clever, thoughtful, funny, wonderful boy to understand how important his happiness was -- how much he was cared for -- how much he mattered. Sirius let go of Remus's hand and raised bloody fingers to his cheek. 

He had only meant to make Remus look at him -- to let him see in his eyes all the things he could not say. He had not meant to lean in so close, and he certainly had not meant to press his lips against Remus's mouth. 

Realisation hit Sirius, and he toppled over backwards, landing on his backside in the grass. "Sorry," he gasped. "Sorry! I shouldn't have -- I didn't mean --" 

Remus stared at him in openmouthed shock. Then he stumbled to his feet, pushed through the privet hedge that marked the boundary of the school grounds, and was gone, leaving the red-stained handkerchief behind. Sirius knew better than to follow. 

After a few minutes, he got to his feet, belatedly recalling that he was expected to return to History. Feeling numb, he wadded up the linen square and returned it to his pocket. 

Binns frowned censoriously when he shuffled back into the lesson that felt like it had begun years before. As he took his seat, James shot him an enquiring look. Sirius just shook his head. Then he bent forwards, resting his forehead on folded arms, and closed his eyes. 

_I am such an ass,_ he thought. 

* * *

Remus did not reappear that afternoon. Nor at supper. Nor in the dormitory that evening as Sirius and the others readied themselves for bed. 

"What happened?" asked James for the dozenth time. 

"I don't know," Sirius lied again. "I couldn't find him." 

James gave him a disgusted look that spoke volumes about his opinion of Sirius's credibility, but let the matter drop for the time being. 

"Should we tell someone?" Peter asked timidly. 

" _No!_ " shouted his friends, rounding on him. 

Peter looked terrified. 

"We'll tell if he's not back by tomorrow," James relented. 

Concerned though they might be, neither James nor Peter lost any sleep over Remus's absence. Sirius could not sleep at all. He lay on his side, the bloodstained handkerchief crushed in his fist, staring at Remus's empty bed and hating himself. He had wrecked any chance he ever had at friendship with Remus. Worse still, he had _kissed_ him, putting himself firmly in the same category as everyone else who had ever done anything to Remus against his will. 

Now Remus was gone, and maybe he would never come back. Maybe Sirius would never have a chance to apologise -- not that he deserved any sort of chances at all -- and he would have to live the rest of his life knowing Remus hated him and that he had earned it. 

_If he comes back,_ Sirius thought miserably, _I'll trade beds with Peter and never come down to this end of the room again. I won't even talk to him unless he talks to me first. And I'll never, ever be alone with him._

* * *

Remus had not reappeared by morning. When he did not show up for lessons, Sirius and the others did not have to tell anyone that he was missing. The three of them presented a united front of vagueness when questioned concerning his whereabouts, but when told that "dunno" was not an acceptable answer, were forced to admit that they had not seen him since the previous afternoon. Unable to obtain any more information than that, Professor McGonagall assigned them three detentions each in disgust and sent them on their way. 

Sirius was too demoralised to care about detentions or to do more than go through the motions of his day, though whenever they were outside, he would glance around for some sign of Remus. He was on his way back to the dormitories after lunch, hoping to catch a few minutes' sleep before afternoon lessons, when an arm shot out of the bushes and dragged him around the side of the dining hall. Sirius blinked, trying to bring James into focus, nose inches from Sirius's own. 

"What. Happened." James's face was as dark and threatening as a storm cloud. His tone said that anything short of the truth would earn Sirius a thorough beating. 

"I kissed him," Sirius confessed. "He ran off." 

James sagged against the wall. "Jesus fucking Christ, Black! What did I tell you?" 

"I know," said Sirius miserably. "I know it was stupid." 

"You think so?" snapped James. "Bloody hell! I should sew your mouth shut. All it does is get you into trouble." 

"I know it," Sirius mumbled. "I'll apologise if -- when he comes back. Or I won't talk to him at all. Whichever you think is best." 

James raised his hands in a quelling gesture. "No. I am not getting involved in this. You made the mess; you clean it up. And until you do, as far as I'm concerned, you don't exist." 

He turned and walked away, leaving Sirius feeling even worse than before. 

* * *

It was almost lights out when Filch, the doorman, delivered a grubby and disheveled Remus back to the dormitory. His hair was wildly tousled, and there were smudges of dirt on his face and uniform, as if he had been sleeping rough. Dried blood stained the cuff of his school shirt. 

"Two weeks' detention is better than you deserve, you ask me," opined the sour-faced Filch. "And they did say I was to tell you that if you feel like scarpering again, don't bother coming back." 

A ringing silence followed the slamming of the door. Without looking at any of them, Remus crossed the room to his bed and disappeared behind the dividing curtain. Sirius heard the squeak of the bed frame as he lay down, and glanced at James, who studiously ignored him in favour of a tattered and much-read spy novel. Sirius caught Peter's eye, but the blond boy quickly turned away, looking distressed. If James had declared Sirius _persona non grata_ , Peter would not defy him. 

Sirius flopped onto his bed, wondering just how much more miserable it was possible to be. He had his answer that night when the dream came to him, and no comforting figure appeared to lead him out of the wilderness of his own self-loathing. He turned over and pressed his face into the pillow, trying very hard not to make any noise as he cried himself back to sleep.


	7. Where There's Smoke

Remus did not say much following his unceremonious return to St Godric's. When Peter asked him where he had been, he shrugged and said, "around". James acted as if nothing had happened, treating Remus with the same friendly accord as always. Sirius stuck to his resolution not to say anything to Remus unless Remus spoke to him first, partly because he did not know what he could say to him, other than _sorry_ , which did not seem like enough. 

No one spoke to Sirius. Every now and then, James would shoot him an impatient look, as if to say, "Are you going to sort this out or not?" Peter, as usual, followed James's lead and kept his mouth shut. Remus did not seem angry, but he did not speak to Sirius, either. Once or twice, Sirius caught Remus looking at him as if he were a puzzle he was trying to work out. He took pains never to be alone with Sirius, which hurt, but Sirius knew it was no more than he deserved. He had proved he could not be trusted. 

The stew of guilt, self-loathing, and loneliness bubbling inside him proved to be the perfect recipe for nightmares. More nights than not, Sirius woke in a cold sweat, his dead brother's name on his lips, and only sometimes managed to go back to sleep. The days that followed dragged by in a haze of exhaustion and guilt. 

Sirius thought that he would rather have his hair cut by Madam Pomfrey every month for the rest of his life than carry on feeling as he did. The silence of his roommates became so unbearable that he began using his private study room. He did little studying, but dozed fitfully across his desk, or wallowed in his own misery, imagining that the others were glad to be rid of him. 

Sirius tried to take comfort in the knowledge that, even if Remus never spoke to him again, eventually James would crack. They had had their share of fights over the years, many of them worse than the current one, and had always come through with their friendship intact. James was not the grudge-bearing type, and it was rare for his resolve to last more than a week or two. But until his best friend accepted him back into his good graces, Sirius could do little apart from schoolwork and reflecting on his own foolishness. 

Saturday came. Sirius spent the morning and part of the afternoon hiding out in his study, but by three o'clock, he could not bear it any longer. Storming into the dormitory, he marched over to his bed and shoved the mattress aside, snatching up the box containing his remaining stash of grass. It might be weeks before he could get more, but that would not stop him getting as high as he could on what he had left. 

If there had been anywhere else to go, Sirius would have gone there, but the back of the chapel was the only safe place. He would just have to try not to think about what had happened the last time he was there. 

His agitation made the straightforward task of rolling a joint frustratingly difficult, and it took him three attempts to manage it. When at last the calming narcotic filled his lungs, and the smoke curled up into his tormented brain, Sirius almost wept with relief. He breathed in long, slow drags, trying to draw out the moment as long as possible. 

When the first one was finished, he sat for long minutes before rolling the next, staring into space and trying to think of only the things he could see -- the grey November sky, the brown grass, the rough stones of the chapel wall, the scuff on the toe of his left shoe -- and nothing about other people or his own misery. Time slowed, and Sirius began to experience a pleasant, floaty sensation in his head and knees. He was not certain of his ability to stand up, but that was all right, so long as he still had something left to smoke. Perhaps he would stay there all night. 

As the light began to fail, however, so did his supply of weed. Sirius peered sorrowfully into the box, and shook the last few bits of green onto a rolling paper with a sigh. He was so preoccupied with the task of lighting up that it was a moment before he realised someone was standing over him, and had quite possibly spoken to him. Slowly, his head tilted back and he looked up, blinking stupidly at an uncomfortable-looking Remus, slouched against the chapel wall with his hands in his pockets. 

"Thought you'd be here," said the brown-haired boy. "Can we talk?" 

Sirius nodded, and Remus slumped down the wall beside him, staring straight ahead. There was a moment's awkwardness before Sirius realised he was being less than sociable, and passed the joint to Remus. As Remus took a deep drag, Sirius cleared his throat, knowing that he owed it to his friend to admit his guilt before the other boy began leveling accusations at him. 

"Sorry," he mumbled, eyes fixed on his hands. "So sorry. It was an awful thing to do. And I know you're not queer." 

He held his breath, waiting to see whether the other boy would accept his inarticulate apology. Remus had come to him, after all, and it did not seem a very Remus-like thing to do -- to smoke the last of his grass and then tell him to fuck off. So maybe -- 

"No," Remus said at last. He took another long pull at the little twist of paper and blew out a cloud of smoke, still staring straight ahead. "No, I am." 

Sirius stared at him, sluggish brain trying to process what he was saying. "You -- what?" 

"I'm a poof. A shirt-lifter. Like you." Remus took a deep, shaky breath. He looked frightened by his own words. "I've never said it out loud before, but I've known for a long time." 

"But I thought --" 

"I know." He met Sirius's glassy gaze for a moment before dropping his eyes back to the joint in his hand. "It seemed easier to let you think I was straight, especially after I noticed you noticing me. I was scared of what might happen. That's why I told you about Guernsey. I wanted to scare you off." 

Sirius stared. He suddenly wished that he were not quite so high, because he had a feeling that what Remus was saying was very important, if only he could grasp the sense of it. "I wasn't scared," said Sirius. "I wanted to help." 

"I know," Remus said again. "When things didn't get weird after I told you, I started to think maybe -- but then you went and kissed me when you _knew_ \--." 

Sirius lowered his eyes, ashamed. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "It'll never happen again. I won't touch you, or even speak to you if you don't want me to." 

"I don't think not talking about things has helped very much," said Remus. "That's why I came looking for you today. I wanted to try saying things instead of not. So if there's something you want to say, you can say it." 

Sirius nodded, eyes still downcast. "I fancy you. But I guess you knew that. It's OK if you're not interested. I'd like for us to carry on being friends, though, if you don't mind. I've liked having you as a friend." 

"I've liked having you as a friend, too," said Remus. "And for the rest of it, while we're being honest -- I did want to kiss you. Just not right then." 

Sirius gaped at him. "Y-you did?" 

Remus nodded, face a mask of grim determination. "I just wasn't sure it was a good idea. I like you, Sirius. But I've heard how you are with blokes. A few snogs, and then you get bored. I don't want that, and I can't get involved with someone I can't trust. I won't be your bit of fun." 

Guilt made Sirius squirm. That _did_ sound like him. But Remus was different; not like the pretty, stuck-up boys with whom Sirius usually entertained himself. If Remus would only give him a chance -- 

"I wouldn't do that to you," he promised. "I could never do that to someone --" 

The steely gleam in Remus's eye cut him off. "Someone broken?" he suggested. "I'm not made of glass." 

Sirius lowered his eyes again. "With someone I care about," he finished softly. 

When he dared a peek at Remus, the boy's brown eyes were fixed on him, searching. "I want to be able to trust you, Sirius." 

"Me, too," said Sirius. "What do I have to do?" 

"Just -- ask first, all right? And if I say 'no', don't take it personally." 

Sirius nodded. "That's fair." 

"For example," said Remus, licking his lips nervously, "now might be a good time for you to ask me if I want to kiss you." 

Sirius's mouth went dry. " _Do_ you want to kiss me?" 

"Yes," whispered Remus. 

"If you do," Sirius promised, "I won't jump on you, or touch you at all unless you ask me to." 

A look of determination came over Remus's face. Sirius held his breath and stayed perfectly still, heart pounding, palms pressed flat against the ground in demonstration of his promise, as Remus leaned towards him. His eyes fluttered closed when Remus's hands cupped his face, and then cool, soft lips pressed tentatively against Sirius's own. The uncertainty of the kiss squeezed at Sirius's heart, but when Remus's lips parted, and his tongue hesitantly brushed against Sirius's lower lip, the blood sang in his veins. 

Remus was kissing him. Tasting his mouth as if he were a rare and possibly deadly delicacy. He felt higher than any drug had ever taken him. Since his initiation into the romantic arts, Sirius had had many snogs, but never one like this. It was his usual habit to dive in headfirst, all self-gratification and exuberance, knocking the other person off their feet and against the nearest flat surface. He had never imagined that complete passivity could be so earth-shattering. 

When Remus pulled away at last, they stared at one another, wide-eyed, in the falling darkness. 

"D'you want to do that again?" asked Sirius, breathless. 

Remus nodded. 

This time, Sirius allowed himself to respond to Remus's kiss, running his tongue along the curve of Remus's lower lip, then tugging it gently between his teeth. In response, Remus slid his hands around the back of Sirius's neck, burying his fingers in his hair and pulling him closer. Their mouths blended in an eager caress that made Sirius feel as if he were flying. 

The light had gone. Sirius's cheek rested against Remus's shoulder, his nose buried in the crook of his neck. They held one another close, breathing in each other's warmth. 

"This," sighed Sirius, contentment humming in his brain. 

"Yeah," Remus agreed. 

A bell rang in the distance, calling them to supper, but they did not move immediately. 

As the ringing faded away, Sirius nuzzled Remus's neck. "I am soooo hungry," he admitted. 

That startled a soft laugh from Remus. "What a surprise. Shall we, then?" 

"I suppose," said Sirius, reluctantly letting go. 

Their hands clasped briefly and then parted as they stepped back onto the path and turned towards the dining hall. No words passed between them, but words felt unnecessary for the moment. 

Hungry though he was, Sirius kept forgetting to eat. His eyes would wander to Remus, or their feet would nudge one another under the table, and he would have to bite back a grin. Pale and flushed by turns, Remus kept his eyes fixed on his plate. James and Peter had seen the two of them enter the dining hall together. Peter looked relieved. James gave Sirius a nod of approval for having apparently smoothed things over, and let the matter rest. And if Sirius burst into uncontrollable fits of giggling once or twice over pudding, well, that was only natural. 

Joy fizzed inside Sirius like bubbles in a soda bottle that evening in their room as conversation returned to normal. He was amazed at Remus's ability to behave as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened, and tried hard to follow his lead. He did not mean to keep his happiness from James forever, but for now, this new understanding between himself and Remus was special -- secret -- and belonged only to the two of them. 

As the lights went out and the four roommates settled into their beds, Sirius felt strangely shy -- a rare occurrence for him -- and could not find the words to bid Remus good night. 

"Remus?" he whispered, reaching across the space between their beds. 

The other boy hesitantly mirrored the gesture, weaving his fingers through Sirius's, but he seemed to have no words either. 

Sirius drew their joined hands towards himself and pressed his mouth fervently against Remus's knuckles -- a pledge, though he did not yet know of what -- and Remus gave him a smile of such sleepy sweetness that Sirius knew there could be no going back. Not for him. He drifted into dreamless sleep, hand still linked with Remus's, his heart bursting with contentment.


	8. Solace

Once over his initial hesitancy, much to Sirius's delight, Remus proved an enthusiastic convert to the art of snogging. Two or three times a day, Remus would pull him aside for a stolen moment that would leave Sirius weak-kneed and dizzy and utterly blissful. Any moment alone with Remus _not_ spent snogging one another's faces off was, in Sirius's opinion, a moment wasted. Remus had only to catch his eye to set Sirius panting with eagerness. 

But it was only in those stolen moments, when they both knew that there was no time, that Remus seemed comfortable kissing Sirius. On the afternoons when Peter had choir and James was with the rugby club, Remus was skittish of letting Sirius get too close. Sirius understood Remus's reluctance, and tried not to feel frustrated by it. He wanted to touch Remus, and be touched in return, but only if Remus wanted it, too. He took pains, therefore, to respect Remus's need for space, never cornering or grabbing him, letting him make the first move, and always leaving him an escape if he needed it. 

Gradually, Sirius remembered why he had so enjoyed spending time in Remus's company, even before they began snogging. He liked Remus, and not only aesthetically. He liked talking to him, and hearing his thoughts. He liked making Remus laugh. They were _friends_. Sirius had never imagined such a thing before. On those quiet afternoons they would sit, each on his own bed, talking in low voices. Sometimes their fingers would lace together, or their feet would nudge one another between the beds, a compromise between the comfort of touch and the need for space. 

"Your family really don't know you're queer?" Sirius asked, one grey afternoon in early December as the sky bulged with rain outside the window. 

Remus shook his head, idly running a thumb over Sirius's knuckles. "Didn't see any reason to tell them." 

Sirius was surprised. Remus usually spoke so fondly of his family. He had never considered that close families might have secrets from one another. "Don't you think they'd want to know?" 

"It's not that simple, is it?" Remus sighed. "They'd probably think it's because of -- what happened. One more thing to blame themselves for, you know? Not exactly a discussion I'm keen to have." 

"Do you think it's because of -- that?" asked Sirius. He had always assumed people were born preferring one or the other -- or both, if they were greedy sods like Dorian Gaveston. Sirius himself had never had the slightest interest in girls. 

Remus frowned. "I don't think it works that way. Nothing happened to you, and you like blokes." 

"True." Sirius glanced down at his hands, holding Remus's, his index finger tracing the end of a pink scar that the cuff of Remus's shirtsleeve did not quite cover. "Why did you do that?" 

Remus's hands twitched as if he might pull them away, then his fingers closed over Sirius's, preventing any further exploration. 

"Sometimes," he said slowly, "it feels like -- like there's so much going on inside me that I'll explode if I don't do something. When I cut myself, it feels like I'm letting it out, I guess. Sometimes it helps." 

The breath caught in Sirius's throat and he looked up from their joined hands at Remus's face. "You've done it before?" 

In answer, Remus let go of Sirius's hands and unbuttoned the cuff of his left sleeve, pushing the fabric back to his elbow. His forearm was crosshatched with thin scars, old and new. Outside the window, the first drops of rain began to patter down. Sirius bit his lip and hesitantly reached out a finger to trace the harsh lines. Remus did not pull away, but Sirius felt a tremor run through him when his fingers caressed a shiny white pucker the size of a fifty pence piece on the outside of his wrist. 

"What's this?" he asked. 

"It's a burn." 

Sirius winced. "You _burned_ yourself?" 

"No." Remus's voice was flat and emotionless. "He did that." 

Sirius did not have to ask who Remus meant. He muttered a curse under his breath, hastily removing his fingers from the scar. 

"He liked hurting me," Remus said matter-of-factly. "Afterwards, it didn't seem like a few more scars would make much difference." 

Hot, sick rage bubbled up in Sirius's throat. He clasped Remus's hands tightly. "I want to fucking kill him for what he did to you." His voice was low and rough, almost a growl. 

Remus smiled bitterly. "Join the queue behind me and my mum. Probably Dad and Nat, too." 

"Would you really do it?" Sirius asked. "If you had the chance and there were no consequences?" 

Remus turned Sirius's hands over in his. "I used to want to make him suffer. He deserves to. But now I just want him gone from the world." He looked up, mouth set in a grim line. "Yes, I'd do it. I'd cut his throat in a second, with a song in my heart." 

Sirius supposed he should be shocked to hear Remus speak so calmly of the desire to commit murder, but he could not blame Remus for feeling as he did. "Would it help, do you think?" he asked. "Would you be better if you knew he was dead?" 

"I don't know." Remus's shoulders drooped. "Maybe not. I expect I'll find out one day." 

The door to the room crashed open and Remus dropped Sirius's hands as James blew in, wet and muddy from the rugby pitch. 

"Good practice?" Remus asked mildly as Sirius hastily tried to shove his tumultuous feelings back under control. 

"Until it wasn't," grumbled James, stripping off his grubby kit without a hint of self-consciousness and rummaging in the wardrobe for clean clothes and a towel. "I'm for a shower. You lot haven't seen my brolly, have you? We'll want them to get to supper." 

Sirius jumped up, glad to have something to do. By the time James's umbrella had been located, and James had departed for the showers, modesty preserved only by a haphazardly-wrapped towel, Peter had returned from choir rehearsal, damp and winded from the dash between buildings. 

For the rest of the afternoon, and at supper that evening, Sirius's mind kept returning to his conversation with Remus. He had not thought it possible to hate Remus's kidnapper more than he already did, but knowing that the man could drive a usually friendly, mild-mannered boy to thoughts of murder made him seethe with impotent rage. The man might be in prison, but in too many ways, he still held Remus captive. Sirius wondered if Remus was ever able to have a single thought or action that was not somehow affected by what had happened to him. 

_He wouldn't be who he is, if it hadn't been for that._

The thought made Sirius feel funny all over. He liked a lot of things about Remus. Would he have been so drawn to a Remus who had never known suffering? Remus might never have come to St Godric's in the first place, if not for his past. Sirius's feelings wove themselves into such a confused tangle of disgust and longing that he decided it was best not to think about the "what ifs". 

Part of his hatred for Remus's kidnapper, Sirius was forced to acknowledge, was rooted in selfishness. Remus could not bear to be touched when he had been thinking or dreaming about the man. Sirius liked touching Remus, and hated feeling helpless in the face of Remus's suffering. 

When his own nightmares haunted him, there was nothing Sirius craved more than the comfort of touch. He had not had one of his own hellish dreams since before Remus kissed him, but that night, after their discussion on the merits of vengeance, Sirius was torn awake from visions of sand and stone and blood by Remus bending over him, urgently whispering his name. 

He sat bolt upright, grabbing the other boy's arm and holding on as if he were drowning. Remus started, but did not pull away, instead awkwardly patting him on the back as Sirius panted and shook. Remus eyed James's snoring profile, visible beyond the carelessly-drawn curtain, and tugged at the arm in Sirius's grasp. 

"Come on," he whispered, drawing Sirius out of his bed and towards Remus's own. 

Sirius would have followed Remus into a minefield, and came willingly, sliding under the covers as Remus moved over to make room for him. Sirius turned instinctively towards the other boy, seeking solace. Remus was warm and solid and real -- the antithesis of all his nightmares -- his arms around Sirius felt like safety. 

"Please," whispered Sirius, tilting his face up. "Will you kiss me?" 

Remus bent his head. His lips were as warm as the rest of him. As Sirius's needy mouth moved against his, he deepened the kiss, tongue teasing its way into Sirius's mouth. With a sigh of relief, Sirius's body relaxed. The blood in his veins began to warm with desire. His arms wrapped around Remus, drawing him down. 

" _Remus_ \--" 

Remus's comforting weight was on top of him, and he could feel their hearts pounding, hear their panting breath through the messy kiss. It felt good, having Remus's body pressed against his. It felt _very_ good. Something nudged at his lower belly, and Sirius realised that it was Remus's cock, hard as his own. He moaned into the other boy's mouth, hips canting instinctively. The shift brought their bodies into alignment and then his prick was touching, moving, sliding alongside Remus's through the thin fabric of their pyjamas as they ground together, mindlessly seeking pressure and friction. 

Sirius's hips bucked upwards, and he muffled a cry against Remus's shoulder as the sudden hot rush of orgasm flooded through him. He was barely aware of Remus's own thrust and shudder and groan. 

As damp heat spread between them, Sirius's eyes flew open. He found Remus staring down at him, the same shock on his face, wide eyes almost black in the moonlight. Hastily, Remus rolled off of him and sat up, back rigid against the headboard, eyes fixed on a point in space somewhere over the foot of the bed. 

Wondering what had just happened, and what it meant, Sirius shakily rummaged in the nightstand drawer, where he had stashed a wad of tissues for emergency late-night wanking sessions. Sitting up, he wordlessly handed half the crumpled tissues to Remus. 

"Thanks," mumbled Remus, gingerly plucking up the waistband of his pyjamas to deal with his half of the mess. 

Sirius dropped his own used tissues onto the floor, but Remus kneaded the wad in his hand, still looking stunned. 

"You OK?" asked Sirius, voice low. 

"I think so." 

Sirius was not sure that he was OK at all. He was very worried that he might be falling in love with Remus. He swallowed. "I'm sorry." 

"I'm not." 

"Oh. That's -- good?" 

"I never thought I'd be able to -- you know -- with another bloke. Didn't know if I'd want to." 

"But -- you liked it?" Sirius asked. 

"Yeah," said Remus quietly. 

"Me, too," Sirius confessed. "I've never --" He broke off, flustered. 

"Never what?" Remus turned to look at him, and Sirius blushed under his scrutiny. 

"You know. Come. Like that. With someone else." 

"Haven't you?" Remus looked surprised. "I thought you said you'd gotten off with half the blokes at St Godric's." 

Sirius shrugged. "That was just snogging. A bit of fun, you know? Not like this." 

Remus found Sirius's hand and gave it a squeeze. "This is different, isn't it?" 

Sirius nodded. He leaned his head against Remus's shoulder, and Remus wrapped his arms around him once more as they settled back onto the pillow. For a while, they lay holding one another, silently pondering the meaning of what they had done. 

"I should probably go back to bed," Sirius said reluctantly when his eyelids began to droop. It would have been pleasant to fall asleep beside Remus, cocooned in warmth and comfort, but sharing a room with James and Peter made that impossible. 

"Probably," agreed Remus. 

He bent his head and touched his lips to Sirius's in a soft goodnight kiss. "Thank you," he whispered. 

Sirius slid back into his own chilly bed and closed his eyes, but his mind was all in a jumble. When at last he fell asleep, the nightmare that had awakened him was long forgotten.


	9. Boundaries

Sirius spent most of the following day in a bliss-soaked daze. It was a wonder to him that James and Peter and everyone else at St Godric's could not read what had happened written all over his face. He could not look at Remus without imagining being pushed against the nearest flat surface and swept away once more in a whirlwind of passion, nor at Remus's bed without recalling the ecstasy they had achieved there only hours before. 

It was rather like being thirteen again, Sirius reflected when, by teatime, his tally of inconvenient erections had reached double digits. Thirteen had been a very trying year for Sirius. He had barely been able to look at another boy -- even James or Peter, much to his embarrassment -- without wondering what it would be like to snog them, and suffering a raging hard-on for his trouble. 

When supper came and went without Remus accosting him in an alcove even once, some of Sirius's euphoria began to evaporate. What if Remus regretted what they had done? From the way he caught Remus looking at him once or twice, he did not think that was the case, but Sirius could not help worrying. Everything to do with Remus made him feel uncharacteristically insecure. Patience had never been one of Sirius's virtues, but he tried to give Remus the space he seemed to want. While Sirius had ever been one to meet confrontation head-on, however ill-advised that course of action might be, he was beginning to understand that it was Remus's way to avoid a subject until he felt ready to face it. 

Sirius managed to endure one full day without physical contact with Remus, and one night of the curtain drawn between their beds, before deciding that enough was enough. The following afternoon, when lessons had finished for the day and there was no sign of Remus, Sirius went looking for him. 

"Come in," said a resigned voice, when Sirius knocked at the door of Remus's study room. 

He slipped inside, shutting the door behind him and leaning against it. "D'you regret it?" 

"No." 

Remus had a wary, hunted look about him, and with a guilty start Sirius realised that he was blocking the only exit from the small room. Hastily, he moved to lean against the wall instead. 

"Then what's the trouble?" he asked more gently. "We haven't done anything wrong. I thought you liked it." 

"I did. I just don't -- I can't --" Remus's face was a mask of frustration. He crossed his arms protectively over his midsection, shoulders hunched. 

Sirius's resolve softened. "Come for a walk with me? It's not raining." 

Remus nodded, looking relieved. He always seemed to feel safer and more relaxed out of doors. 

Sirius retrieved their coats and met Remus at the dormitory door. The late autumn twilight was damp and chilly. It had rained that morning, and would probably rain again by nightfall, but for the time being the clouds held back their soggy burden as the two boys trudged slowly up the path in the direction of the library. 

"Talk to me," Sirius urged, once they were alone and out in the open. 

"I just -- don't know," sighed Remus, hair sweeping forwards to hide his eyes as he stared down at his shuffling feet. 

"Do you want to stop?" asked Sirius tentatively. "Just be friends again?" _Could_ he go back to being just friends with Remus after knowing the taste of his mouth and the fierce joy of his body pressed against him? 

Remus shook his head. "I don't know," he repeated. 

Sirius stopped and turned to face him. "Then tell me something you _do_ know," he snapped, fear making him impatient. 

Remus bit his lip. "I know I like you. And I liked what we did. More than liked." 

Relief flooded Sirius, but Remus was not finished. 

"I can't just do things like other people," he said, brown eyes pleading. "You've seen what it's like when something sets me off. If we're -- doing things, and it suddenly reminds me of something, I don't know what could happen. I might hurt you without meaning to." 

Sirius wanted to reach for him, to take his hand, but they were out in the open and someone might see. Instead, he inclined his head, indicating that they should walk on. 

"What we did the other night -- that was all right, wasn't it?" he reasoned. "Could you do that again, do you think?" Sirius blushed at the bluntness of his own proposition. 

Remus's ears reddened. "Yeah, that was OK. But what if you wanted to do other things, and I couldn't? It doesn't seem fair to you." 

They dropped their conversation momentarily as they entered the library. Remus nodded to Madam Pince, the thin-lipped, gimlet-eyed librarian, as they turned to walk a loop around the stacks, feigning legitimate business. When they reached the last rows of shelves, Sirius stopped and faced Remus once more, taking the other boy's hand in his. It was safe here. They would be able to hear if someone was coming. 

"What I want," he said softly, looking into Remus's eyes, "is for you to feel safe with me. I would never hurt you. We don't have to do anything unless you want to, and if you say 'no' or 'stop', I will. I promise." 

Remus looked stunned. His mouth opened, but no sound emerged, and he closed it again. 

"You, on the other hand," Sirius continued, a wicked gleam lighting his eyes, "may do anything you like to me. For example, should you happen to want to snog me right now, I would have no objections at all." 

The corner of Remus's mouth curled up, and he ducked his head, lips colliding clumsily with Sirius's. Sirius leaned back against the stacks, fingers resting on the edge of a shelf, and let Remus have full control over the direction of the kiss. Remus had apparently been missing their stolen moments as much as Sirius had. His mouth quickly turned hot and greedy, and Sirius felt far too warm in his wool coat, and too far from Remus, with all the layers of fabric separating them. His fingers went to Remus's buttons, but Remus caught his hands and broke away, laughing. 

"Not here!" 

It was so good to hear Remus laugh that Sirius did not mind the interruption of the kiss. They left the library, but there was no safe place to go for a private interlude. Even the back of the chapel was out. The groundskeeper, a big bearded man named Hagrid, was working nearby, readying the school flowerbeds for winter. He gave the two boys a friendly wave, which they returned as they passed, heading up the hill to the games field. 

The grass was brown and scrubby with the season, but the field was flat and open and good for running. They raced one another across the rugby pitch, laughing and shouting and trying to run off some of the feeling that coruscated in their blood. Sirius threw back his head and bayed at the rising moon for sheer joy. 

By the time the bell rang, calling them down to supper, droplets of mist glittered in their hair and on their clothes, and they were flushed with exercise. They paused beneath the boughs of a holly tree for another stolen kiss. Sirius wanted nothing more than for Remus to tumble him onto the grass and repeat the thrilling adventure of two nights before, damp and mud and all. He only resisted because of the awkward questions that would be asked if they turned up for supper late and muddy. 

That night, Sirius barely waited for James to complete his first snore before clambering out of his own bed and into Remus's. 

"Can we?" he pleaded against Remus's mouth. 

"Yes," Remus breathed. 

Mindful of Remus's concerns, Sirius tried to remain perfectly still, fingers anchored in the sheets, but his body trembled with eagerness. Remus's hands caressed his arms and chest as they kissed deeply, and when Sirius felt a hardness pressing against his hip, he swallowed a moan of want. 

The roaming hands moved to Sirius's waistband, and Remus hesitated. "I -- um -- it was sort of messy last time. I thought maybe --" 

Sirius nodded, trying to ignore the butterflies in his belly. He lifted his hips to let Remus pull his pyjamas and pants down his thighs, exposing his bare skin to the chilly midnight air. Remus froze, staring. 

"Remus," he murmured, drawing the other boy's look of morbid fascination away from his naked erection and up to his face. "All right?" 

Remus closed his eyes and nodded. Hands trembling, he pushed his own pants down to his knees. 

Two beds away, James snorted and turned over. For several dizzy, terrifying seconds, the two boys stared at one another, eyes wide, trying to stifle their gasping breath. A moment later, another long snore signaled the all-clear, but the interruption had broken some of the tension. Sirius grinned. 

"Kiss me?" he invited the boy kneeling between his thighs. 

Remus looked both terrified and mesmerised as he crawled up Sirius's body. When their cocks brushed together, Sirius, who had been planning to keep quiet to avoid any possibility of startling Remus, groaned and writhed. 

" _Oh!_ " he gasped as the slippery head of Remus's prick dragged across his own. 

Far from being frightened, Remus made a small pleased sound, low in his throat. He descended on Sirius, all hot bare skin and devouring mouth. Pleasure sparked through every nerve ending as their hips collided. The slide of skin on skin felt ten times better than their first accidental experience had. Remus surrounded him, consumed him, until nothing else existed. He was sight and sound and smell and taste and touch. When Sirius's hips thrust upwards, hungry for more pressure, Remus ground down against him, making a sound that was almost a snarl against his throat. 

It was that sound that undid Sirius. A treacherous whine escaped his lips as his cock pulsed, and hot slippery come coated his belly and Remus's. 

" _Fuck_ ," gasped Remus as the resultant easy glide on his own cock sent him into a long, shuddering climax. He collapsed on top of Sirius, panting, hips still jerking. 

Cautiously, Sirius unclenched his cramped fingers from the sheets and brought them up to rest lightly on the damp skin of Remus's lower back, just under his shirt. The only response was a contented sigh against Sirius's shoulder. 

It would have been easy for them to fall asleep like that, pressed so close together that it was impossible to tell whose heartbeat was whose, but at last Remus groaned and rolled off him. This time, it was he who retrieved a stash of tissues from under the pillow. Stickiness dealt with, neither of them had the will to put their clothing in order. They pulled the blankets up over them for warmth and cover. 

"Don't fall asleep," warned Remus, wrapping an arm around him. 

"No promises," sighed Sirius. 

There was a moment of stillness, but it felt pensive rather than sleepy. Sirius turned to find Remus watching him, a thoughtful set to his mouth. 

"What?" Sirius asked, a nervous smile tugging at his lips. 

Remus shook his head. "I just -- I never thought I'd be able to have anything like this," he said softly. "You're -- thank you." 

Sirius chuckled. "For what? Letting you have your wicked way with me? I assure you, the pleasure was mine. Although some of it may have been yours, judging from the mess," he added with a smirk. 

The laughter died on Sirius's lips as Remus raised a hand to his cheek, brown eyes warm with affection. "You're such a surprise, Sirius. I've never known anyone like you. How can it be that two months ago, I didn't even know you?" 

Sirius blinked as Remus's lips touched his forehead. Had it really been so short a time? In just two months, he had met, fallen for, and somehow won this wonderful, enigmatic puzzle of a boy. It seemed impossible, but Sirius was not inclined to complain. He sighed in contentment, and submitted to Remus nuzzling his neck. 

"You even smell good," said Remus a moment later, drawing back to stare at him. "How do you do that? I never thought I'd like --" He shook his head and returned to planting hot openmouthed kisses up and down Sirius's throat, the fingers of one hand tracing lazy spirals against the sensitive skin of Sirius's belly. 

"Remus?" he gasped as a hot tongue teased the curve of his collarbone. 

"Hmmm?" 

"I -- I'll be ready to go again in a minute, if you keep doing that." 

"Is that so?" murmured Remus, hand sliding lower.


	10. Shades of Intimacy

Those first weeks of sexual discovery were among the happiest of Sirius's life. They did not do it every night. On some nights, one or both of them would be too tired for more than a few sleepy kisses, and on others, it was enough just to fall asleep talking and holding Remus's hand across the gap between their beds. But more often than not, they found a few moments, day or night, to indulge in physical intimacy. 

At first, Sirius did his best to control his enthusiasm and remain as quiet and still as possible, fearing that an inadvertent word or touch might trigger a memory for Remus. However, he quickly made two important discoveries. The first was that Remus loved it when he gasped and moaned and begged. "I want to hear you," he growled during one passionate stolen moment which Sirius was unlikely to forget anytime soon. The second was that Sirius loved the submissive role. Nothing had ever turned him on the way that giving up all control to Remus did. He did nothing without Remus's willing it, sometimes enduring long moments of slow, exquisite torment at the other boy's hands, resulting in climaxes more intense than Sirius had ever thought possible. 

It did not take them long to discovered the delights of hand cream, already familiar for wanking purposes. When Remus wrapped a slippery hand around his cock for the first time, Sirius bit his own hand to keep from crying out and waking the others. He could still see the teeth marks two days later. 

It took longer for Remus to be comfortable letting Sirius return his touch, but that changed one afternoon when they had the dormitory to themselves. Remus had just finished giving Sirius a handjob, which Sirius thought might qualify as a religious experience, but had yet to do anything about the situation in his own trousers. When Remus's hands moved to his fly, Sirius quickly rallied himself. 

"Let me try? Please?" he asked, not necessarily expecting a reply in the affirmative. 

Hesitantly, Remus nodded. 

Sirius took Remus's hands in his own, kissing him. "You can tell me to stop anytime, if you're not comfortable." 

"I know," said Remus. "I trust you." 

Nervous excitement coursed through Sirius. Remus's trust was a rare and precious gift -- one Sirius would break himself into pieces rather than betray. He needed to do this right. Keeping his movements slow and deliberate, Sirius kissed Remus again, touching his hands and arms and shoulders and back and all the places Remus had felt safe letting him touch before. He took his time, never crowding him, always letting Remus feel that he had an escape. 

"What should I do now?" he murmured, when Remus's body began to relax. 

"Um, you could take my pants off," suggested Remus, with only a slight tremor in his voice. 

Sirius smiled, kissing him again. "I like that idea." 

Remus raised his hips, shivering, as Sirius tugged down his trousers and pants. Sirius rested a hand on Remus's hipbone, experimentally running a thumb over the bony ridge, but did not take his eyes off Remus's face. 

"Show me how to touch you?" 

Remus bit his lip, and Sirius held his breath as the other boy hesitantly took his hand, guiding it between his legs. He was only half hard. His skin was velvety-soft and warm to the touch, and when Sirius ran his fingers lightly up the shaft and over the head, Remus's eyes fluttered closed, his hand relaxing around Sirius's. 

It was only then that Sirius allowed himself to look at Remus's cock. It was nice to look at, and nicer still when it swelled to his touch. The head was smooth and well-proportioned, exactly the same shade of pink Remus's ears sometimes turned when Sirius whispered something filthy to him during lessons. The shaft was long and straight, angling up over his belly. His sac was tight and nearly hairless, balls cradled close to his body. Sirius bent his head closer, watching in fascination as his hand closed around the base of the shaft, sliding the foreskin slowly up and down before caressing the head with his thumb. He grinned as Remus made an inarticulate sound, hips jutting up against Sirius's palm. A bead of pre-come appeared at the tip as Sirius stroked him again. Sirius wondered what it tasted like. 

"Remus?" 

"Hmmm?" 

"Can I suck you off?" 

Remus's eyes flew open, and he half sat up, his hand tightening around Sirius's. "What?" he gasped. 

"If you don't want me to, that's all right," said Sirius hastily. "It was only an idea." 

Remus stared at him in horrified fascination. "You -- _want_ to do that?" 

"I -- yeah, I guess so," said Sirius, disconcerted. "I mean, I've thought about it, and it seems like it would feel good. Lots of people do it. If you don't like it, though, that's OK." 

"No, I -- I mean, if you want to --" stammered Remus. Slowly, he lay back, but he continued to eye Sirius warily. 

"You're sure?" Sirius asked. "You can tell me to stop if it's not good." 

Remus nodded, lips pressed together. 

Permission granted, Sirius wrapped his fingers around the base of the shaft once more, and bent his head. He put his tongue out and delicately licked Remus's slit. The taste was a little bitter and a little salty, but nothing he could not handle. Remus gasped, but did not tell him to stop or try to push him away. Emboldened, Sirius curled his tongue around the flared head. The smooth texture was fascinating, the musky scent distinctly Remus. When his lips slid down to engulf the head and administer the first tentative suck, Remus made a choked sound, and his hips jerked. Sirius firmed his grip, drawing him in deeper, swirling his tongue over the ridge that ran along the underside of Remus's prick and sucking harder. 

" _Sirius!_ Oh, god! _Stop!_ " 

Sirius drew back immediately, loosening his grip. "What's the matter?" 

Remus's cheeks were flushed, lips bitten red, eyes pleading. "If you keep doing that, I -- I'll come." 

"I know," said Sirius. "Isn't that the point?" 

"But --" Remus looked endearingly flustered. "You don't want --" 

Sirius grinned at his discomfiture. "It's OK if you come in my mouth, Remus. I don't mind." 

"Oh." Remus stared at him. "I -- really? You want _that_?" 

In answer, Sirius bowed his head, sucking Remus deeply into his mouth, and began bobbing his head in a brutal rhythm that could have only one outcome. 

The only coherent sound Remus managed was a shaky " _Sirius!_ " as he climaxed, his body convulsing violently. Hot bitter fluid flooded Sirius's mouth. He swallowed, making a face at the taste, and snuggled up beside a spent and gasping Remus. 

"What in god's name possessed you to do a thing like that?" Remus moaned, covering his eyes. 

"Didn't you like it?" asked Sirius, disappointed. 

"I -- _yes_ , but --" 

Sirius grinned, relieved. "That's a good enough reason for me. I like making you feel good. And I _love_ watching you come." 

He tilted his chin up to kiss Remus, but the other boy recoiled. "I -- sorry. I can't. The taste --" 

"Oh." Sirius bit his lip and settled himself against Remus's shoulder, pushing down the sick angry feeling that welled up inside him when he was reminded of Remus's past. "Should I not have done it, then?" 

"No, it was good," Remus assured him. "Really good. But -- I can't do it for you. I'm sorry. I wish I could show you how it felt." 

"Don't be sorry." Sirius kissed the corner of Remus's jaw. "You do all kinds of brilliant things for me -- or more to the point, _to_ me. Do I look unsatisfied?" 

Remus smiled reluctantly. "I suppose not. But I might need a quick refresher in what 'satisfied' looks like. Pass me the lotion?" 

After that, Sirius made a habit of cleaning his teeth a little more often than usual, and Remus gradually became more comfortable giving up a little of his control. But still Sirius felt as though Remus was holding back, and it worried him. What if Remus decided they were going too fast, or thought Sirius was being pushy? What if he changed his mind and wanted to write the whole thing off as a bad idea? The thought made Sirius feel hollow and panicky, so he pushed it away and gave himself over to the sheer joy of being with Remus, trying to keep his expectations minimal, and letting Remus make the first move. 

* * *

Watching Remus covertly in History one day not long before the Christmas holidays, admiring the soft fringe of golden-brown hair that hid Remus's eyes as he took notes, and remembering the tickle of that same hair on his throat less than an hour before, Sirius idly wondered if he was still a virgin. How did one count such things if one was a boy who did things with boys? He knew how things were usually measured in heterosexual relationships, and he had heard of gay men performing similar acts, but it felt to Sirius as if the things he and Remus did together ought to count. He wondered whether Remus still considered himself a virgin, but he could not ask; Remus's past complicated the question too much. 

Perhaps because their clothing largely remained in place during their encounters, or perhaps because they never had the luxury of falling asleep in one another's arms, the things they did together still felt more like fooling around than anything else, to Sirius. He began to realise that the concept of virginity was ridiculous, impossible to measure, and that if it truly existed at all, he would decide for himself when the moment had passed. 

The holidays arrived, and James and Peter went home to their families. Sirius was in the habit of spending as little time with his own parents as possible, and while he had an open invitation to stay with the Potters whenever he liked, he thought it unlikely that he could hide the agony of being without Remus from them for two whole weeks. 

Remus, much to Sirius's surprise, elected not to go home either. He had written to his parents with a vague excuse about needing access to the school library to catch up on his studies over the break. He and Sirius had not spoken about it nor planned it, but there was a nervous excitement in the air at the thought of having the dormitory all to themselves for a fortnight. 

After seeing their roommates off at the school gates, Sirius and Remus walked back up to St Godric's, grinning sidelong at one another. The excess of freedom suddenly felt terrifying, and neither of them knew how to begin taking advantage of it. They spent most of the day lingering in public spaces -- the library, the dining hall, the common area of the dormitory -- engaged in innocent conversation about friends and school and family, Sirius delighting in making Remus laugh with tales of school Christmases past with James and Peter. 

But as they left the dining hall after supper that evening, hands brushing together under the cover of darkness as they walked, a tense silence fell between them. Sirius drew out his nighttime ritual of cleaning his teeth and changing into his pyjamas for as long as he could, berating himself for his sudden inexplicable skittishness. Remus, reclining on his bed, striped pyjama trousers exposing skinny ankles, saw the fear in his face. 

"Come here," he said softly. 

When Sirius approached, heart hammering against his ribs, Remus took his hand and drew him down onto the narrow bed beside him, spooning him against his chest, an arm wrapped protectively around him. 

"We don't have to do anything tonight." Remus's breath was warm on his neck. "Let's just sleep." 

The tension that had tied Sirius in knots all day went out of him. He closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief, relaxing in the circle of Remus's arms. 

"That sounds nice," he said as Remus pulled the blankets over them. 

Soft lips pressed a kiss just below his ear. "Good night, Sirius." 

Sirius found Remus's hand and laced their fingers together, bringing them to his mouth. "G'night, Remus," he whispered. 

He soon fell asleep, soothed by the gentle rise and fall of Remus's chest, fingers still linked, a smile of contentment playing on his lips. 

* * *

Sirius woke the next morning with Remus's arm slung across his chest, his face pressed against Sirius's neck. He stared at the ceiling, contemplating one of the best nights' sleep he had ever experienced, and how good it felt to wake up next to Remus. When the form beside him stirred, Sirius turned to watch Remus's eyes flutter open, and felt a sharp tug inside his chest. 

_I'm done for,_ he realised in the face of tousled brown hair and a shy, sleepy smile. _I never want to wake up without him again._

"Morning," croaked Remus. 

"Morning," echoed Sirius, trying to ignore the flutter in his belly. "Sleep all right?" 

The sweet smile widened and Remus stretched his long limbs luxuriantly. Sirius felt an overwhelming desire to kiss the boy whose bare feet were tangled with his own, and did so. Remus's arms folded around him, a hand cradling the back of his neck. 

After a few moments, Remus broke away, flushed. "We should probably stop, or we'll -- ah -- miss breakfast." 

"I suppose so," sighed Sirius. He could think of half a dozen things he would rather do than go to breakfast, and all of them involved himself and Remus staying right where they were. A day spent in bed with Remus sounded rather like heaven to Sirius. 

He dressed quickly, his back turned to hide the effect that their good morning kiss had had on him, making a mental note to stop by the toilets later to stock up on tissues. When he turned around again, Remus was watching him. 

"There's no rush," the other boy reminded him, and he was not talking about breakfast. "We have loads of time." 

A reluctant smile tugged at Sirius's lips. "I know. I just --" he broke off, shaking his head, because the words clamouring for space on his tongue frightened him. _I want to be with you all the time. I don't want to ever stop touching you. I've never felt like this before._ And there were other words behind those that were too scary to contemplate, like the four-letter one starting with "L", which Sirius was having more and more difficulty keeping out of his thoughts. 

"C'mon," said Remus with a sweet smile that only made matters worse. He held out his hand, and Sirius took it, holding on as far as the door to their room -- as far as was safe.


	11. Comfort and Joy

The following week was spent in less innocent pursuits than their first night alone in the dormitory had been. Though they did not try anything new, there was less concern about keeping quiet with James and Peter gone. Sirius loudly moaning Remus's name as he came was often the catalyst which took Remus, cursing, over the edge with him. When Remus's hands were on him, all of Sirius's guilt and anxiety melted away, and he knew nothing but pure joy. 

Christmas morning dawned bright and cold. Frosty sunlight bounced off a crust of snow to stream through the dormitory's open window, waking the intertwined sleepers. 

"Happy Christmas," they mumbled against one another's mouths before hurrying to the bathroom to wash away the sticky residue of the previous night's activities. 

Sirius's foot nudged Remus's under the table at breakfast as the handful of students and professors who had remained at school over the break exchanged holiday greetings. Even Professor McGonagall was brimming with Christmas cheer, and Sirius relaxed a little, allowing some of his own happiness to shine through as he greeted the English mistress. 

After breakfast, the staff herded the chattering students to the chapel for Christmas services. Sirius usually found chapel unspeakably dull, but today Remus sat beside him, and there could be nothing dull about that. 

Remus was not bored by chapel. He had once confided to Sirius that he found it peaceful. So far as Sirius was concerned, Remus was entitled to every measure of peace he could find. This morning, Remus was relaxed and bright-eyed, his rough but clear tenor voice sending shivers of pleasure down Sirius's spine during the hymns. Sirius had no gift for music. He had been informed on more than one occasion that if that was the best he could do, he should at least have the decency to do it quietly, so he kept his voice low, and listened instead to Remus, soaring through the familiar carols. 

When they knelt in prayer after receiving the sacrament, Sirius admired Remus's profile from beneath lowered lashes. Head bowed, cheeks flushed, lips moving in silent petition, the honey-haired boy was the picture of innocence and pious devotion. 

_He's beautiful,_ thought Sirius, a soppy smile tugging at his mouth. He was just thinking of leaning over to steal a kiss while the eyes of the congregation were closed in spiritual contemplation, when Remus's lips moved, forming a silent _Sirius_. 

Sirius's smile faltered as a wave of some huge, unnamed emotion welled up in his chest. He did not understand why it should so move him to know that Remus spoke his name to a god Sirius himself barely believed in, but it did. His throat felt tight, and he wanted very badly to touch Remus, but _Amens_ were being said, and the worshippers were rising to their feet. 

Sirius mouthed his way obliviously through _Joy to the World_ , unable to focus on anything but the ache in his chest and the boy beside him who was the cause of it. 

The service ended and they were released into the bright winter sunlight, but Sirius remained silent on the walk back to the dormitory. Some of the boys had arranged an impromptu holiday celebration in the common area, complete with tea, biscuits, and mince pies, but Sirius did not feel inclined to be sociable. Instead, he followed Remus down the corridor to their room. 

Closing the door behind them, Remus gave him a mischievous grin. "I have something for you," he said, crossing the room to his bed. A brief rummage through his case produced a tiny parcel wrapped in brown paper which Remus dropped into Sirius's surprised hands. "Happy Christmas." 

Sirius stared at it, feeling guilty. "I didn't get you anything." 

"You've given me loads more than --" Remus broke off, blushing. "The least I could do was get you a Christmas prezzie. Stop whinging and open it." 

Tearing through the thick brown paper, Sirius found a small wooden box with a sliding top. Inside were the crumbling green buds and rich organic scent of the finest grass to be had at St Godric's school. Sirius looked up, bewildered. 

"I made some discreet inquiries," said Remus smugly. "Potter gave me the name of your supplier." 

"Remus, this is too much. You shouldn't have --" 

Remus waved a hand dismissively. "I had some pocket money lying around. Anyway, it's not just from me; Potter and Pettigrew chipped in, too." 

Sirius bit his lip. "I -- thank you." 

"So?" Remus nudged him in the ribs, grinning. "Shall we try it out?" 

They circled around the grounds the long way, not wishing to seem in too much of a hurry to be anywhere in particular, merely two friends enjoying a stroll in the fresh air and rare winter sunshine. When they reached the chapel, they glanced around to make certain they were not observed, then ducked behind the building. 

They shared only one joint between them, but it was enough to give them a pleasant buzz. They were more interested in one another's company than the drug. It was not long before Sirius found himself on his back in the snow with Remus on top of him, his cold laughing mouth tasting of everything wonderful, though the thick layers of wool between them kept anything more from happening. 

Christmas dinner was an enormous many-coursed affair lasting most of the afternoon. By the end of it, Sirius felt as stuffed as a Christmas goose, and pleasantly drowsy. So relaxed was he that he almost forgot himself and took Remus's hand during the short walk back to the dormitory afterwards. Remus appeared lost in thought, but he smiled warmly when he caught Sirius looking at him. 

The dormitory was chilly and dark. Sirius knelt and laid a fire in the small hearth at Peter's end of the room. By the time Remus joined him on the hearth rug, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him close, the flames were crackling merrily. They sat enveloped in the little pool of dancing light, reveling in companionable warmth and stillness. 

"Good Christmas?" murmured Remus, lips brushing Sirius's ear. 

"Yes," sighed Sirius. His hand moved to cover the one resting on his hip. "I'm glad you decided to stay." 

"I couldn't very well let you keep Christmas alone, could I?" said Remus. 

"Oh." Sirius turned to look at him, surprised. "I thought --" 

"That I only stayed to get into your pants?" Firelight flickered in Remus's eyes, hiding his expression. "Enjoyable as that is, I do actually like spending time with you, Sirius." 

"I like being with you, too," said Sirius softly. 

Remus's answering smile was tremulous. 

"What's wrong?" Sirius reached up automatically to push Remus's hair back from his cheek. 

"I feel safe with you, Sirius," Remus admitted. "Safer than I've ever felt with anyone except my family. I haven't had the dream in almost a month. It scares me a little." 

"Why?" asked Sirius, startled. His own nightmares had not put in an appearance since the first night he had found his way into Remus's bed, and he could only consider that a good thing. 

Remus kissed his forehead. "Because I don't know what this is or how long it will last. It's bad enough thinking things could go back to the way they were before; I don't need my heart broken, too." His tone was light, but there was an undercurrent of tension in it. 

"Never -- I would _never_ \--" Sirius's chest felt tight, and he had to force the words out, eyes fixed imploringly on Remus's face. "I don't ever want us to stop. Remus, you're -- everything." 

Words ran out, but actions were better. Twisting in Remus's arms, he pressed their mouths together, trying to demonstrate his feelings for the other boy that way. When that means of expression also proved insufficient, Sirius pulled away and stood. Eyes never leaving Remus's, he slowly unbuttoned his shirt, shedding it along with his vest. His trousers, socks, and pants followed with the deliberate slowness of a sacred ritual, until he stood naked before Remus, skin glowing in the firelight. 

"Yours," he whispered fiercely. 

"Oh," breathed Remus again. "Oh, Sirius. You're _beautiful_." 

Sirius knelt, reaching for the buttons of Remus's shirt. Reverie shaken, Remus's hands flew up to grab his, holding them fast. 

"Don't --" 

"Why not?" 

Remus looked away, biting his lip. "I -- it's kind of a mess. There are a lot of scars. It's ugly. You don't want --" 

"I don't care." Sirius's voice was low and thick with yearning. His hands squeezed Remus's. "I want to see you, Remus. I want to be with you. Trust me, please?" 

Slowly, Remus released Sirius's hands. "I trust you," he whispered. 

The words and the tremor in his voice clutched at Sirius's heart and he had to kiss Remus again before he could think of doing anything else, savouring the sweetness of those full, soft lips. This time, when his fingers moved to Remus's buttons, there was no protest, and when the white linen fell from his shoulders, Remus's shaking hands helped him tug the vest over his head. 

Sirius's breath caught in his throat. Firelight gleamed on knots and slashes of shiny scar tissue. A blade passing too close to one dark nipple had left the round shape with a straight edge. The other had been cut or burned away entirely. 

Sirius beheld the devastation for only a split second before tears blurred his vision. His hands splayed over the damaged skin, and he bent his head to hide the strong emotion, pressing his lips to the worst of the scars -- a twisted pucker over Remus's heart -- as if the feeling flowing through him might prove powerful enough to heal even that with a touch. 

Tears spilled over as he closed his eyes, fingers stroking and touching, learning the strange textures of Remus's skin. Under his blind caress, the scars faded, and he felt instead the graceful arch of Remus's ribs, the warmth of his body, the fearful pounding of his heart. 

"I can put my shirt back on if -- if it's too --" Remus's vocal cords sounded ready to snap under the tension in his voice. 

Sirius looked up into fearful brown eyes. 

"It's nothing," he said, pressing his mouth to Remus's. "You're perfect." 

Remus made a small choked sound that might have been a laugh or a sob. "God, Sirius! You're --" 

But whatever Remus thought Sirius might be was lost in a kiss and a sudden rush to separate Remus from his trousers. Their fire-heated skins merged, and like wax figures, they melted into one another, chests and thighs and mouths and cocks. Remus's arms were around him, bearing him down onto the hearth rug, and Sirius went willingly, joyously, sliding his palms over Remus's scarred back, hungry for every inch of his skin to be touching every inch of Remus's. 

" _Please_ ," Sirius gasped into Remus's mouth as their hips rocked together, sweating bodies seeking closeness, friction, rhythm. "Want you so much." 

Something hot splashed onto Sirius's cheek, and he broke the kiss, shaken to see the flames glinting off the tracks of tears on Remus's face. 

"Remus?" he whispered. 

The other boy opened his mouth, then shook his head and kissed Sirius again as if he meant to drown himself in him. Sirius surrendered himself completely to his lover's desperate embrace, to bruising fingers and straining hips, and when Remus came, sobbing Sirius's name over and over again, he knew, _this is it -- this is real_. 

Climax bloomed through him like an epiphany -- a slow, warm glow suffusing his entire body -- until he lost all awareness of anything except for the trembling boy in his arms. 

They lay quiet afterwards, Sirius's thumb stroking slow circles on Remus's shoulderblade, Remus's face pressed against Sirius's neck. 

"Remus?" he said softly, when he knew he must speak or burst. 

A wuffling sound indicated some level of sentient awareness from the limp, heavy form resting on his chest. 

"Remus, what would you say if -- if I said I thought I was falling in love with you?" He had hoped to sound casual, but the words left his tongue in a tense rush. 

Remus came back to life, raising his head to gaze down at Sirius as half a dozen emotions flitted across his face. "I'd say --" His voice cracked and he stopped, swallowing. "I'd say you needed your head examined." 

"Right." Sirius tried to swallow the painful lump of disappointment in his throat. 

Then Remus's lips touched his. "And then I'd say that I really hope you are, because I think I'm falling in love with you, too." 

A shaky sigh of relief escaped Sirius's lips, and he relaxed, closing his eyes, resuming the tiny caresses of his thumb against the skin of Remus's back, as Remus's head came to rest on his shoulder once more. 

"Remus?" he said again a moment later. 

"Hmmm?" 

"I think I'm falling in love with you." 

He felt the rumble of Remus's chuckle between his hand and chest. "Tosser." 

A smile of pure happiness spread across Sirius's face, and he turned to press it to the top of Remus's head. 

"I love you, Remus," he whispered. 

A contented sigh misted warm against the skin of his shoulder. "I love you, too, Sirius." 

* * *

The dormitory door crashed open and the boisterous conversation that had begun in the corridor ceased abruptly. 

Sirius blinked up from where he lay on the floor before the blackened hearth -- Remus in his arms, both of them rigid with the shock of sudden waking -- and into the drop-jawed faces of James Potter and Peter Pettigrew. He could only be glad that it had been cold enough once the fire had gone out to warrant tugging the quilt off Peter's nearby bed to cover them. He glanced furtively down to make sure nothing personal was showing, drawing the quilt protectively over Remus's exposed scars. 

"You're -- ah -- back early," he said. 

"Thought -- thought you lot would get bored without us," said James faintly. "Wanted to surprise you." 

Sirius grimaced. "Well, you've done that." 

"My Gran made that quilt!" squeaked Peter, scandalised. 

Remus, pale and wild-eyed, tugged the quilt up to his throat. "It's -- ah -- very warm." 

"You're -- but -- you two -- you're not -- are you?" stammered James, staring back and forth between them. 

"Er -- yes. Yes, we are," Sirius sighed, confirming the obvious. "Sorry. I would've told you. I just --" 

But Peter paid no attention to the stilted apology. He rounded on James and punched him in the shoulder. "I said so, didn't I? You owe me a tenner!"


	12. Promises

> _Dear Mum and Dad,_
> 
> _My friend Sirius Black has invited me to stay with his family for a fortnight, once school finishes. You remember his father is the Earl of Shellingham? I'm sorry; I know I wasn't home for Christmas or Easter this year. You can tell me how disappointed you are when you see me._
> 
> _A-Levels are going well, so far. Tomorrow is Maths, which I'm not at all worried about. Well, maybe a little. With any luck, I'll get the marks I need for Surrey, but I really hope I can meet Bristol's requirements. They're one of the best for Psychology._
> 
> _Expect me home around the end of June. I'll write again to let you know which day, and which train I'll be catching. Give Nat a hug from me when she gets home. I miss you._
> 
> _Your loving son,_  
>  _Remus_
> 
> _P.S., Could you please pick up a copy of the LEA grant application for me so I can start filling it out as soon as I get home? Thanks!_

* * *

**June 1978**

The train was hot and crowded. Remus had unbuttoned his top two buttons, but he was still in danger of sweating through his shirt. He barely noticed. His eyes were fixed on the boy beside him. Sirius sat hunched over, eyes lowered, white-knuckled fists in his lap. 

"Sirius --?" Remus pitched his voice below the hubbub of the carriage. 

Sirius shook his head. "I'm fine." 

Remus knew it was a lie. His face was pale, and there were dark circles under his eyes -- marks left by the nightmares that had plagued his sleep every night for the past week. Remus was exhausted, too. When Sirius did not sleep, he rarely did either. He longed to reach over and touch the boy he loved, to offer comfort, but they were in public. 

"Sirius, talk to me." If he could only distract Sirius from his thoughts, he might forestall a full-on anxiety attack. 

"It's just -- I don't want to. I don't want to go home. I don't want to deal with them." 

"I know," murmured Remus, soothing. "But I'll be there, and before you know it, you'll be off with James. Until then, just -- one day at a time, yeah?" 

Sirius nodded jerkily. His hands clenched tighter across his belly. 

"I -- I don't feel so -- I need some air," he gasped, leaping from his seat and bolting down the narrow, crowded passage between the seats. 

Hastily, Remus went after him. When Sirius ducked into one of the train's small toilets, Remus followed. He stroked the sweat-soaked hair on the back of Sirius's neck, murmuring soft words as Sirius brought up what little he had eaten for breakfast, and helped him rinse his mouth with water, after. Sirius clung to him, his whole body shaking. Remus could feel the pounding of his heart as he held him close. 

"Would it be easier if I wasn't there?" he asked. "I can go home tomorrow, if it's too much." 

Sirius's arms tightened around him. "Don't go!" his voice held a note of panic. 

"I won't," Remus promised. "We're a team, aren't we? I have your back, no matter what." 

"I love you." The words were muffled against Remus's shoulder. 

Remus smiled. "I love you, too. You're going to be fine." 

* * *

A car met them at the station. A very shiny, very black, and very expensive-looking car. The crisply-dressed driver nodded to them before loading their luggage into the boot. 

"Welcome home, m'lord." 

"Johnson," Sirius nodded in return. "This is my friend, Remus Lupin. He'll be staying for a while." 

"A pleasure to meet you, Sir," said the driver. 

As soon as the door closed behind them, Sirius slid across the cushy red leather seat to snuggle against a surprised Remus. 

"It's all right," Sirius assured him. "Johnson won't blab. I saw him with a bloke from the village once." 

If the car was impressive, the residence was staggering. 

"You live here?" said Remus faintly, peering through the dark-tinted windows as the car passed through the gates of an imposing Mediaeval fortress, perched high on a rocky promontory above the village. 

Sirius shrugged, looking uncomfortable. "When I can't help it. Does it freak you out?" 

It did, a little. When they were at school, it was easy to forget that Sirius came from old blood and massive wealth, but now the trappings of it were all around Remus, making him feel self-consciously common and grubby. "It might take some getting used to." 

"Hopefully we won't be here long enough for that," said Sirius. "Will you kiss me? It might be a while before we get the chance again." 

The desperation on Sirius's lips reminded Remus that, however uncomfortable he might feel in these surroundings, it was nothing to Sirius's anxiety at being there. Sirius was still Sirius, whatever his background, and right now, comfort and reassurance meant more to him than all the money in the world. Remus set his own discomfort aside and devoted his full attention to making sure that Sirius was well and thoroughly kissed until the car came to a stop. 

They were met in the entrance hall by the tiny, elderly head housekeeper, whom Sirius addressed as Mrs Kreacher. She eyed them with ill-disguised dislike. 

"Your suite is ready, m'lord. I shall arrange a guest room for Mr Lupin." She bowed stiffly, then added, "The Earl and Countess expect your presence in the main dining hall at six o'clock, where you are to dine with them and their guests. I will inform the serving staff to lay a place for Mr Lupin, as well." 

"You didn't tell them I was coming?" asked Remus when she had gone. 

Sirius shook his head. "They can't stop me having guests. I didn't see any reason to tell them." 

"She didn't seem very happy to see me." 

"It's me she's not happy to see," said Sirius, jaw tight. "She was fond of Regs, but she didn't like me even before --" He broke off and shook himself. "C'mon." 

Sirius showed him up the stairs, pointing out various items of value or history along the way. Remus nodded or said "oh, really?" at appropriate intervals, and Sirius cast him odd, assessing looks. When they reached his rooms, Sirius closed the door and leaned against it. 

"So, what do you think?" 

Remus shrugged. "It's all right, I guess. I wouldn't much fancy the thought of living here, though." 

Sirius let out a breath and sagged against the door. "Oh, good. Me neither." 

"You didn't think I was interested in your money, did you?" asked Remus. 

It was Sirius's turn to shrug. "Not really. But sometimes, people get weird after they've seen all this." 

"Come here," said Remus, holding out his hands. 

Sirius stepped closer and took them. Remus squeezed his fingers tight, resting his forehead against Sirius's. 

"I promise not to 'get weird' about it," he said. "Money's nice. Enough money, I mean. Anything extra is unnecessary. Now, shall we go find some lunch?" 

Sirius kissed Remus on the nose. "Yes, definitely." 

* * *

After lunch, they returned to Sirius's rooms and took a nap on the enormous canopied bed. Sirius slept soundly, safe in Remus's arms. 

They woke in time for supper. Remus returned to the guest room to find his best shirt and trousers freshly pressed, and his shoes polished. _This will definitely take some getting used to,_ he thought as he dressed. 

He was not certain how he felt about meeting Sirius's parents. He was not looking forwards to the experience, but on the other hand, he did not have to worry much about making a good impression; it did not matter whether they liked him or not, especially not to Sirius. Still, Remus found that he did want to make a good impression if he could. 

The Earl and Countess greeted him with polite, neutral smiles when Sirius introduced him. The Earl resembled his son to a remarkable degree, sharing the same black hair, grey eyes, and aristocratic good looks. His temples were greying, and deep lines framed his nose and mouth. The Countess was not as attractive as her husband. She was a tall, thin woman with a sharp face, iron-grey hair, and suspicious black eyes. 

Their other guests for supper were the Mayor of Shellingham, the vicar of the local parish, a baroness and her teenage daughter. Sirius greeted the girl stiffly. When they sat down at the table, Remus felt Sirius's foot nudge against his. He nudged back -- the only comfort and encouragement he could safely offer. 

Remus was soft-spoken and polite to the other diners, speaking only when spoken to. Sirius, too, was quiet. He spoke only when asked direct questions, and his responses were monosyllabic. The girl sitting across from him tried in vain to engage him in conversation, but Sirius hardly looked at her. His parents, seated at the ends of the table, could barely conceal their disapproval. When his father pointedly suggested that perhaps he would like to give the young lady a tour of the castle grounds after supper, Sirius's jaw tightened, but all he said was, "I'm tired, Father. It's been a long day." 

"I'd love to see the grounds sometime," said the girl. "Perhaps next week --?" 

"Doubtful," Sirius told her frostily. "I have a very busy summer planned. I suggest taking one of the official guided tours of the estate. The guides should be able to tell you anything you want to know." 

The girl lapsed into disappointed silence. 

"Don't be silly," said the Countess with a false smile. "My son has been too long at school. He has forgotten the proper courtesies due a young lady. I'm sure he can find the time for such a charming companion in his busy schedule." 

The vicar shook his head mournfully. "Boys' schools can be dangerous, if one is not vigilant. Without the civilising influence of women, young men can fall into all kinds of trouble, and even sinful behaviour." 

The Countess's mouth tightened. "Well, we do not tolerate that sort of nonsense in this house." 

"No, of course not!" the vicar blushed. "I never meant to suggest -- Please forgive me, m'lady." 

"There is nothing to forgive, Father." The Countess waved a dismissive hand. "I have heard such rumours as well. I hope there is little truth to them, but I imagine such animalistic tendencies are more common among the lower classes. Well-bred gentlemen do not engage in such behaviour." 

"I am sure you are right, m'lady," said the vicar. "But what are we thinking, speaking of such unsavoury topics in the presence of a young lady?" He bowed his head to the girl. "Your pardon, my dear." 

The girl looked puzzled, but nodded to him in return. From the end of the table, the Countess's eyes flicked between her son and Remus, her lips pressed thin. _She knows,_ he thought. 

When the guests departed, the Earl and Countess bid Remus goodnight as well, but asked Sirius to remain a moment. Remus did not want to leave him alone with them, but saw no way around it. He went up the stairs and hovered in the doorway to the guest room, waiting. 

It was half an hour before Sirius reappeared, looking battle-weary and completely demoralised. As soon as Remus closed the door, Sirius fell into his arms, trembling. 

"I have to go on _three_ outings with that girl next month," he said, voice muffled in Remus's shirt. "It's the only way they would agree to let you stay. And they said if they hear even a hint of any _impropriety_ , they'll send you packing." 

"It's all right," Remus told him, stroking his hair. "We'll be careful." 

"They hate me. My family hates me. And I hate them." He lifted his head to look at Remus. "Does that make me a terrible person? Hating my family? I come from them. What if I'm just like them?" 

" _Shhh_ ," Remus soothed. "You're not a thing like them. You're wonderful. If you weren't, I wouldn't love you as much as I do." The tender kiss he pressed to Sirius's mouth went on for a long time. 

"Can we go to bed?" sighed Sirius. "I just -- don't want to think about anything for a while." 

"Of course." 

Gently, Remus undressed him, kissing him again and again. When he laid him down on the bed, Sirius plucked at the vest Remus still wore. 

"If it makes you more comfortable, you can keep it on, but you don't have to wear it on my account. Your scars don't trouble me. I'd like to be as close to you as possible right now." 

Remus hesitated only a moment before drawing the undershirt off over his head. He gathered Sirius into his arms and held him close, their bare skins pressed together, kissing and touching and murmuring soft words. Remus made love to Sirius slowly and gently, and afterwards, held him while he wept. 

"Better now?" he asked, when Sirius quieted. 

"Much," sighed Sirius, nuzzling closer against Remus's shoulder. "Dunno what I'll do without you when I'm off galavanting around Europe with James." 

"I'll miss you, too," said Remus, kissing the top of his head. 

Sirius's thumb traced the curve of Remus's collarbone. "I could fly you down for a weekend, now and then. You could meet me in Paris, Rome, Prague...." 

"You'll probably meet a handsome Frenchman and forget all about me," Remus teased. "Anyway, I wouldn't feel right having you spend that much money on me." 

"The money's nothing," Sirius told him. "I'd rather have you than a thousand handsome Frenchmen and all the money in the world." 

Remus laughed. "I'll bet you say that to all the boys." 

Sirius looked up at him, eyes searching. "I'm not joking, Remus. If I lost everything, but I still had you, I would be happy. I don't ever want us to stop." 

Remus's smile softened. "I don't either." 

Groping for his hand, Sirius laced their fingers together. "If it were legal," he said softly, "I'd ask you to marry me." 

The breath caught in Remus's throat. "But it's not." 

"Would you?" Sirius asked. "If we could? Would you marry me, Remus?" 

Remus's heart was hammering in his chest. It was difficult to speak around the lump in his throat. "Yes," he whispered. 

The next few minutes were filled with kissing. When they broke apart, there were tears on Remus's cheeks. 

"What's this?" asked Sirius, thumb brushing away the moisture. 

Remus shook his head. "It's silly, but -- I feel like you really proposed to me." 

"I think I did," said Sirius. "There's no law against me asking, or against you saying 'yes'." 

"I suppose that's true." 

"Just promise me, Remus," Sirius begged, "if there's ever a way that we can, we'll make it real." 

"I promise." 

They kissed some more, and then Sirius grinned. "I suppose this means you're my fiancé now. And I'm yours." 

Remus could not hold back a smile. "I suppose it does." 

"I'm going to buy you a ring," Sirius told him. 

"Don't be silly," laughed Remus. 

Sirius snuggled closer in Remus's arms with a contented sigh. "I am, though. Only the best for my betrothed."


	13. Forgiveness

Though it was only just past midmorning, the day was already warm. Sunlight shone from a clear blue sky, scattering sparks over the distant waves and warming the sandy path which led from the castle, past the village of Shellingham, and up to the crest of a grassy hill. The village was filled with a cheery summer bustle, but the hill was quiet, the path between it and the castle deserted except for two barefoot figures. 

A salt-scented breeze ruffled Remus's hair, making him feel as light as the sunlit air. He imagined that if he took a deep enough breath of it, he might float away altogether. All that held him to the earth was the hand holding his. 

He glanced fondly at the boy beside him. Sirius's hair was getting long, shiny black tresses curling over collar and ears. Remus liked it, but there was not much that he did not like about Sirius. Since the moment that his lips had touched Remus's over a year and a half before, everything had changed. The shift had been so sudden and so profound that Remus would not have been surprised to learn that Sirius possessed magical powers, unknown even to himself. 

Before meeting the other boy, Remus had felt isolated and alone. He had no friends because he had not tried to make any; other boys did not understand him, and he had no desire to explain himself. But a look from Sirius had unlocked the granite chamber of Remus's heart, and all his secrets had come pouring out. His darkest fears had proved insubstantial in the face of his growing feelings for the other boy. Sirius, warm and eager in his bed, was safety and comfort, as much as he was heat and hunger. His desire for Remus's damaged body had helped to make him feel whole again. 

Remus was in love. Beautiful, impulsive Sirius Black had stolen his heart, and that love had healed Remus more than doctors, medications, or the passage of time. 

There were still bad days. It was never Sirius's fault -- he was always so conscientious with Remus when they made love -- but sometimes a touch or a word would send Remus reeling backwards through time, tearing him from Sirius's embrace and driving him to the open window, sick and dizzy, until the night air chilled his skin and drained the poison from his blood. When that happened, Sirius knew better than to approach him. Instead, he would slink back to his own bed, burrow guiltily under the covers, and wait for Remus to come back to him. When he did, Sirius would offer abject contrition, and Remus would reach across the space between them and take his hand. They would fall asleep like that, comforted by the knowledge that tomorrow would be better. 

Remus would never be able to outrun the horrors of his childhood entirely, but sometimes whole days would pass and he would not think of them. It had been nearly a year since the last time he had cut himself, and even his nightmares had grown infrequent. With Sirius close enough to touch, Remus felt safe. He slept peacefully, without fear of ambush from the darkness that lurked in his psyche. 

The path crested the hill, and the two young men stopped at a wrought iron gate. Wide grey eyes turned towards Remus, pleading. 

"Remus, I can't --" 

"Yes, you can. You told me last night not to let you talk yourself out of it. Go on. I'll be right here." He squeezed Sirius's hand, then let go, leaving him to walk the last few steps alone. 

His heart ached for the boy he loved with every reluctant step Sirius took, face pale, eyes fixed on his goal. When he reached it, he crouched down, one hand moving to trace the letters carved into the slab of white marble. 

"Hey, Regs," he said softly. 

Remus swallowed a lump in his throat and blinked back tears as he watched Sirius greet the brother he had not spoken to for eight years. 

"Sorry I never came before now. I always meant to, but -- I couldn't. Didn't know if you'd want me to. I thought it was my fault, what happened, and I thought -- maybe you did, too." 

Sirius's voice gained strength as he spoke. "I've finished school. James and I are taking a gap year to go travelling. No idea where yet. James is my best mate. You never met him, but he's ace. When we get back, I'm off to university. Mother and Father will be glad to be rid of me, I expect. They still haven't forgiven me for what happened." 

His lower lip trembled and he made the rest of his confession in an urgent rush. "I still dream about it all the time, Regs. You're there and I know what's going to happen, but I can never stop it. Remus thought if I came here, maybe it would help. He understands about dreams." 

He glanced up at Remus, standing nearby. "This is Remus, Regs. He's -- You would've loved him. At least, I hope you would have. I do." The last words were barely a whisper. 

Remus's heart squeezed as grey eyes held his for a moment before turning back to the white stone. 

Sirius took a deep breath. "Regs, I'm queer. I just -- thought you should know, since you're my brother. Maybe it wouldn't make a difference to you. Mother and Father think I'm being ridiculous, and I'll get over it and do all the things I'm supposed to do for the sake of the family. Maybe you would've stood by me and told them to go get stuffed. I hope so. But if you were here, then they'd have you to carry on the family name. It wouldn't matter so much what I did." 

Sirius bowed his head, voice tight with sorrow. "I miss you. I'm sorry. God, I'm so, so sorry, Regs --" 

Tears fell from his lashes to vanish in the grass that covered the small grave. A sob tore from his throat, and Remus was there, pulling him into his arms, holding him tightly as he went to pieces. They held each other for long minutes, swaying in the sea-scented air, until Sirius's breathing turned from sobs to shaky gasps. 

"I love you," he whispered as Remus stroked his neck. 

"I know," murmured Remus, tasting the salt of tears on Sirius' lips. "Do you want to go now? We can come back whenever you like." 

Sirius nodded. When Remus let go of him, he removed something from the back pocket of his denims, and set it carefully atop the marble memorial. 

"It's a scallop shell," he said softly to the brother sleeping beneath the earth. "We found it on the beach yesterday. I thought you'd like it." 

Remus knew it was not only a token of remembrance; it was also a sign to Sirius's parents, so that they would know he had been there, for whatever that might mean to them. 

"C'mon," Remus said, holding out his hand. "We'll walk back along the beach." 

Sirius nodded, touching the sun-warmed stone one last time. "Bye, Regs. It was good talking to you. I'll come back again soon." 

The wrought iron gate creaked as the two young men passed through it and turned down the path, hand in hand, leaving the dead to their rest. 

They took a side path, circling beneath the forbidding bulk of Shellingham Castle, high on its rocky outcrop, and waded through the tough, scrubby grass that clung to the shore, gradually giving way to the rippled expanse of ruddy gold sand. The tide was high, washing over their bare feet as they passed in and out of the shadow of the sandstone cliffs. Sirius was silent all the way down from the graveyard, and when Remus looked at him, his face was turned away, gazing out over the sparkling expanse of the North Sea. 

"Are you all right?" 

"Yeah. Fine," Sirius said, not taking his eyes off the water. 

Remus stopped, tugging at Sirius's hand to force him around to face him. "No, you're not. Talk to me." 

Sirius turned reluctantly. His eyes flickered up over the cliff face, and then dropped back down to his hand, linked with Remus's. "Not here. I can't --" 

Realisation dawned on Remus. "Oh. Is this where --?" 

"I don't know." Sirius shook his head. "The beach changes. Storms and things. But -- near here." 

"You haven't been down here since it happened?" asked Remus sympathetically. 

"No. Just the public beach, where we were yesterday." 

He let go of Remus's hand and turned away, his eyes and footsteps drawn unwillingly to the craggy wall of sandstone. Remus followed, but said nothing. When he reached the cliff face, Sirius pressed his palms flat against the unyielding surface. He bowed his head, resting his forehead against the rough stone. 

"I did it, Remus. I killed him," he said, sounding desolate. "I might as well have done it with my own hands." 

One hand came away from the rock, formed a fist, and crashed back into the cliff. 

"Stop that!" cried Remus, grabbing him by the arms and turning him away. "You'll hurt yourself." 

"Does it matter?" Sirius's face was streaked with tears of rage. Flinty eyes bored into Remus. "Don't I deserve it? I killed my brother." 

"No," Remus said. "You didn't. You --" 

Suddenly Sirius was kissing him, hard and desperate, teeth sinking into his lower lip. 

"Sirius, what --?" he gasped, fighting to keep his balance. 

"Fuck me. Right here," Sirius whined, arms twining around Remus's neck. "Fuck me, Remus. _Hurt_ me!" 

"Stop it!" Remus jerked away, grabbing Sirius by the shoulders, and giving him a shake. "That's not a punishment. I would never use that to hurt you. Jesus, Sirius. Your family punishes you, your own psyche punishes you -- eight years of nightmares! -- you think I should punish you, too? Haven't you had enough? It was never your fault." 

Sirius continued shaking his head in a misery of denial. "It was! You don't know --" 

"Shut up," Remus snapped, and Sirius blinked at him in surprise. "It was his own damn fault, wasn't it? Regulus's. He chose to climb the cliffs, didn't he? And he kept climbing in spite of his better judgment." 

"No!" gasped Sirius, horrified. "He was just a kid! He _died_ , Remus! How can you --?" 

Remus cupped Sirius's face in his hands, eyes softening. "If it wasn't his fault, how could it be yours? Were you so much older and wiser?" 

Sirius stared at him in shock. Then his shoulders sagged and Remus drew him in, holding him against his chest. Tremors shook the boy in his arms, and a gasping breath bubbled from between his lips. 

"Are you OK?" he asked gently. 

There was a snort, and Remus realised that Sirius was laughing. 

"Sirius?" Remus held him at arms length, brown eyes searching, concerned. 

Sirius grinned, wiping the tears from his cheeks with bloody knuckles. "I'm just imagining what you'll be like after three years of studying Psychology. God, you'll be bloody terrifying! I'll never stand a chance." 

A smile tugged at Remus's mouth. "Count on it. You'll get better whether you like it or not, Sirius Black." 

* * *

Countess Walburga knew something was amiss the moment she stepped into the entrance hall. A knot of early summer tourists babbled excitedly in various accents, but they were not gazing in wonder at the rich appointments and ancient majesty of her ancestral home. Their white-faced tour guide stood apart from the group, bent in low, urgent conversation with Mrs Kreacher. 

Walburga strode towards them, jaw clenched. She tolerated these incursions from commoners because opening the castle to tourists made the family seem generous, but she would brook no unpleasantness in her home. 

"What's happened?" She demanded. 

"I'm sorry, m'lady," stammered the tour guide, terror increasing tenfold upon sight of the Countess. "I was not informed that the heir was in residence. Had I but known, I would have sent Lord Sirius notification of all scheduled tours --" 

"Aye," jeered a Glaswegian tourist, heavy camera slung about his neck. "Next thing, ye'll be sayin' how ye didna ken the heir was a flamin' poof, neither." 

Walburga rounded on Mrs Kreacher, who blanched visibly. Her black eyes flashed fire. "What did they see?"


	14. Acceptance

"Did you hear that?" Sylvia Lupin sat up in bed, heart in her throat, staring towards the bedroom door and listening hard over the sound of heavy raindrops battering the window. 

Her husband Marcellus squinted sleepily up at her. "Eh?" 

"I heard something. Downstairs." 

No coward, Sylvia put her feet out of bed. Grasping one of the clubs from the golf bag in the corner, she hurried to the door, glancing back over her shoulder with one hand on the brass knob. 

"Coming?" 

Hastily, Marcellus scrambled out of bed and shrugged into his dressing gown, joining his wife at the door. There was a silent count of _one, two, three_ before the door was thrown open, and they leapt out onto the landing. 

Two teenage boys, wet hair plastered to their faces, stood in the entryway, talking in hushed voices. 

"Remus?" Sylvia gasped. She hurried down the stairs and threw her arms around her son. 

"Mum!" he cried, belatedly embracing her in return. "Did we wake you? Sorry for getting in so late; we had to catch the last train. What's the golf club for?" 

She released him with an embarrassed grin and leaned the nine iron against the wall. 

"Your mother's defending the house from intruders," quipped Marcellus, as he, too, embraced the boy. "Welcome home, Son. We weren't expecting you before next week." 

Remus looked slightly flushed. "Yeah. Sorry. Long story. Mum, Dad, this is my friend Sirius Black." 

The boy lurking awkwardly behind Remus stepped forwards, offering a damp handshake. 

"Sorry to drop in on you so unexpectedly, Mr and Mrs Lupin, but Remus said you might be willing to put me up for the night. It's rather nasty out, and I seem to have forgotten my brolly." 

He was not quite as tall as Remus, and his too-long hair was black as midnight, as were the lashes framing a pair of astonishingly lovely wide grey eyes. He was, in fact, quite striking. His bearing and accent spoke of the extreme upper echelons of Society, but his smile was friendly, and his manner charming. 

Sylvia was not charmed. She mistrusted friendly strangers, especially where her son was concerned, but she was also a gracious hostess. 

"Yes, of course," she said, automatically pinning a politely friendly expression on her face. "Do you have something dry to wear? You lads must be soaked to the skin. We haven't any guest room, I'm afraid, but I'll fetch some blankets for the sofa. Would you care for tea?" 

"There's no need for all that, Mum," said Remus, reappearing at her shoulder and handing the handsome boy a towel to dry his hair. "It's late. Sirius and I have had a long day, and you and Dad were already in bed. He can bunk up with me for tonight." 

Sylvia's brow furrowed as she cast a glance back and forth between her son and his friend. "You're sure?" 

An odd half-smile pulled at the corner of Remus's mouth, and he gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. "It's fine, Mum." 

Sylvia relaxed a little at the fond expression in her son's soft brown eyes, so like her own. _He's Remus's friend,_ she chided herself. _He trusts him._

"All right," she said, smiling reluctantly. "To bed with you both, then. We'll talk tomorrow." 

It might only have been her imagination, but Sylvia thought the half-smile on Remus's lips wavered for a moment. "Definitely." 

* * *

The following morning, Marcellus was out at dawn on a house call to a nearby farm, overseeing the delivery of a foal to a heavily pedigreed mare, so it was left to Sylvia to fix breakfast for her son and Sirius. 

"So what made you boys blow into town with the storm last night?" she asked, setting plates of eggs, sausage, toast, and fried tomatoes before them. 

Sirius hesitated, fork halfway to his mouth, eyes flicking to Remus, who was staring at his own plate. 

"It's a long story, Mum. Can it wait until Dad gets home? I don't fancy telling it twice." 

"Of course," she said, giving him a curious look. 

She watched him covertly as she ate her own breakfast, but he did not seem upset. In fact, as they discussed Remus's last weeks at school and his recent exams, he seemed unusually cheerful, smiling frequently, and even laughing at one of Sirius's jokes. But whenever the boys' eyes met, Sylvia sensed a current of tension, and then Remus would develop a nervous, pensive look, falling silent once more. 

Sirius continued to be polite, well-spoken, and charming, jumping in to fill the lulls in their conversation. By the time Sylvia left the table and Sirius leapt to his feet to offer help with the washing up, she was smiling in spite of herself. Waving away his offers, she chided herself for her reservations. Remus had been alone for so long. Should she not be glad that he had at last found a friend who was thoughtful and intelligent and could make him laugh? 

They were companionably enjoying tea in the sitting room when Marcellus Lupin returned, beaming. "A fine, healthy sorrel colt," he announced proudly. "And they didn't pay me in chickens this time." 

"There are worse things than chickens," replied Sylvia darkly. "Remember the time with the pig? Tell me they paid you in cash." 

"They did," her husband informed her. 

Sirius mouthed _pig?_ at Remus, who rolled his eyes, grinning. As Marcellus ducked into the kitchen to fill another mug, Sylvia and Remus took turns recounting the saga of the pig. By the time they had finished, Sirius was laughing so hard he could barely breathe, and Marcellus had returned to the sitting room to join his wife on the sofa. 

"I don't accept pigs as payment anymore," Marcellus told their guest. "Not live ones, at least." 

"No, I can see why not," gasped Sirius, wiping his eyes. "Are the neighbours still speaking to you? The ones who owned the cat?" 

"Happily, yes," said Sylvia. "We resolved the matter over a fine ham supper." 

Sirius was still chortling when Remus set down his mug and sat forwards in his chair, clearing his throat. "Mum, Dad, can I talk to you about something? It's sort of important." 

"Of course, Son," said Marcellus, sitting up a little straighter. "What's the trouble? You know you can tell me and your mother anything." 

Sylvia made an assenting noise, eyes sliding sideways to Sirius. He stared down at the mug in his hands, as if trying very hard to pretend he was not part of the conversation. He clearly already knew what this was all about. 

"I know, Dad," said Remus, smiling fondly. "You've always been great about everything. I never meant to keep secrets from you, but --" He broke off, looking nervous. 

"But?" Sylvia sat forwards, too, tea forgotten, heart suddenly beating double time. Something was not right. "Remus, did something happen at school? Or with your exams? Is this -- about a girl?" 

Remus flushed. "No, Mum. Nothing like that. Or not exactly." 

At a loss, he reached for her, and she clasped his hand between hers, offering an encouraging smile that she knew fell short of the mark. "Tell me, Sweetheart." 

Fingers squeezed hers as Remus drew a shaky breath. "Mum. Dad. I -- I'm gay. I like boys, not girls." 

Whatever Sylvia had been expecting, that was not it. She stared at her son in shock, unable to formulate a coherent response. 

The spell was broken by the nervous clearing of a throat. A quiet, well-bred voice said, "Mr and Mrs Lupin --" 

Realisation jolted through Sylvia. Her gaze snapped from her son to his friend. Waves of sick horror washed over her as everything became suddenly, horribly clear. This boy -- this stranger -- this overbred interloper -- had had his hands on her son -- had been in his bed only the night before, in her home, mere feet from where she slept, doing god only knew what manner of filthy, obscene things to him. 

She was not aware of standing up, nor of letting go of Remus's hand. 

"How dare you?" she hissed. Her voice shook with a cold rage. "How _dare_ you touch my son? After everything he's been through, what gives you the right? Your name? Your money? You think you can use people in that vile fashion? You're _nothing_. You're not fit to _look_ at him. Get out of my house." 

Colour flooded Sirius's cheeks as she spoke. He rose to his feet, fists clenched, eyes blazing. 

"I love your son, Mrs Lupin." His voice was low and dangerous, anger roughening the edges of his cultured accent. "I _love_ him, d'you hear me? I would never hurt him nor take advantage of him in any way. I wouldn't even touch him if he didn't ask me to do it." He turned to Remus. "You'll have an easier time doing this without me here. Come find me when you're done." 

Shoulders squared, he stalked to the front door, shutting it firmly behind him. 

With the focus of her rage gone, Sylvia gradually became aware of her surroundings once more. Marcellus sat with his face in his hands. Remus's eyes were closed, a hand pressed to his mouth. His expression spoke of one gathering strength in the face of imminent battle. 

"Well?" Sylvia demanded. "Is it true? Did you _allow_ that boy to violate you?" 

Slowly, Remus lowered the hand covering his mouth. His eyes were filled with pain and sadness. "Don't call it that, Mum. Sirius loves me, and I love him." 

"Has he so corrupted you?" Sylvia was torn between sorrow for her son and disgust at what had been done to him. "You think it's love just because _he_ calls it that? People have taken advantage of you before, Remus. How can you close your eyes to it? To let him make a fool and a -- a _whore_ of you --" 

Remus's face went dead white. Even his lips lost their colour. "You think I've forgotten?" his voice was a bare whisper that gained strength as he spoke. "When someone makes you their whore, Mother, you don't _ever_ forget it. Yes, I've been taken advantage of. People have used me, or tried to. But not Sirius. Never him. You think I don't know the difference?" 

They glared at one another, implacable brown eyes at stalemate, until a quiet, strained voice asked, "Did this happen because of Guernsey, Son? Are you like this because of what he did to you?" 

Remus's shoulders slumped. "No. You can't make someone queer. I would have been this way no matter what. I know this isn't what you wanted for me, but it's who I am. I've known for a long time; I just never wanted to do anything about it until I met Sirius. He's a good man, Dad, I swear it. If you and Mum will only give him a chance --" 

"A chance to do what?" demanded Sylvia. "To use his privilege to indulge in his filthy perversions? Not in this house. What happens once he's had his fun? You think he won't grow bored and toss you aside? His kind usually do." 

"He won't," insisted Remus. "D'you want to know why we came here last night? His parents have thrown him out. Disinherited him. Some tourists visiting Shellingham saw us kissing. A few of them got pictures. Don't worry," he added at the horrified sounds from both his parents. "They didn't get a good look at me, and no one knows my name, but it's odds on that Sirius's face will be all over the tabloids in a couple of days. His parents heard about it from the housekeeper. There was a huge row. They said he'd disgraced them in public and soiled the family's good name. His father told him not to come back until he's willing to 'do his duty'." A fond smile lit his mouth. "Sirius said he already had everything he wanted. But now he has nowhere to go until his best mate comes back from France." 

His mother frowned, but Marcellus spoke first, voice gentle, sympathetic. "I can understand how that might seem like a very romantic gesture, Son. But he's young. He doesn't understand yet what foreswearing his inheritance will mean, or how people will treat the two of you. It's not an easy path, especially for someone who's not used to fending for himself. What happens if he changes his mind?" 

Sylvia stared at her husband in disbelief. "What's gotten into you, Marc? Your son tells you that some posh nance has been bedding him, and you can talk about 'romantic gestures'?" 

"Syl --" Marcellus began, brow furrowing, but Remus cut him off, pleading eyes fixed on his mother's face. 

"He's been good for me, Mum. I haven't had a nightmare since March. Do I have to tell you how good it is to be able to fall asleep without worrying that I'll end up right back in that place, living it all over again? I don't need those sleeping pills you're always after me to take. I need _Sirius_. I'm better with him. Please, give him a chance." 

Sylvia's jaw remained clenched as she gave her son a long, assessing look. She knew only too well how many nights he had awoken in a blind panic of terror and memory -- how many nights she had beat back her own heartbreak to hold him while he shook and cried. If he was telling the truth, and it really had been three months since his last nightmare, that would be something close to a miracle. 

"All right," she said at last. "He can stay until he finds another place. No more than a week, you understand? But he sleeps on the sofa, and I don't want to see him touching you." 

* * *

Lack of sleep made Sylvia even more cross than she already was. At night, every sound kept her wakeful, imagining Sirius creeping up the stairs to Remus's room. She briefly considered sleeping in front of her son's door, but dismissed the idea as impractical and probably excessive. Both boys had given their word to abide by her rules, and while she still considered Sirius a dangerous unknown, she trusted Remus implicitly, in spite of his recent confession. 

When she did sleep, she dreamed. 

Sylvia could not imagine the horror of the nightmares endured by her son. Her own were bad enough. The memory of Remus's disappearance, and the clenching fear that had marked four months of diminishing hope that they would ever see him alive again, hung like a black fog in her unconscious mind, making her toss and turn. But her most vivid dreams were of the day Remus had been restored to her -- the day she could never forget, no matter how hard she tried -- the day Sylvia wished that her son had died after all. 

She had wept with joy when they received word that Remus had been found alive, and they had hastily arranged for their daughter Natalie to stay with Marcellus's parents, before rushing back to Guernsey. The detective who had spoken to them over the phone was reticent about the details, saying only that Remus had been located, and giving them the name of the hospital where he was being treated. 

Their happiness and relief had lasted until they arrived at the hospital. There, a doctor had taken them aside and told them what had happened to Remus. Though she could not remember his name, Sylvia could still recall with painful clarity the distant, clinical tone of his voice as he described her small son's suffering. Words like "malnourishment", "trauma", "tissue damage", and "secondary stage syphilitic infection" made a pincushion of her heart. It was more than any child should have to bear, and more than any mother should have to hear, and yet she had bourne it, dry-eyed, until she saw him. 

He was sitting bolt upright, looking impossibly tiny in the midst of his hospital bed. His eyes seemed huge in his thin face, with his usual halo of white-blond hair cropped away. Bandages covered his arms and chest, and tubes protruded from a skinny wrist, feeding fluids into his veins. 

They had told her she should be careful of touching him, but when he saw her, his eyes had gone impossibly wide, and he burst into tears. Instantly, she was at his bedside, pulling him into her arms, cradling his shockingly light body against her bosom as they lost themselves to a storm of weeping. 

She could recall perfectly the fragile birdlike feel of his bones, the weakness of his arms as he clung to her, and the sickening evidence of imprisonment, torture, and rape that riddled his small body. But most of all, she remembered the broken hiccoughing sobs as he wailed, "I'm sorry, Mummy! I'm sorry I ran away. Can we go home? I'll be good, I promise. Don't let them give me back to the man." 

For weeks, Sylvia had barely left his side, standing vigil over him as his body healed itself and the antibiotics drove the lurking infections from his system. "It's over," she told him when he would wake, screaming and flailing in his hospital bed. "Mummy's here. You're safe, Baby. It's over." 

But she knew it was a lie, because it could never be over. Not for Remus. Not as long as the nightmares returned time and again to swallow him whole, visiting the same horror upon his psyche that his abductor had visited upon his body, keeping the memory of his violation fresh. 

Between anxiety at the prospect of separation from his family, behavioural issues, a tenacious bedwetting problem, and money spent on numerous private specialists and medications -- the Lupins had done what they could to keep their son's difficulties off the official record -- Remus had been almost thirteen before his parents were able to send him away to school. But still the nightmares had persisted, and no solution had ever been found to give him the smallest relief. Until now. 

Over the days following the heated discussion in the sitting room, Sylvia watched her son and his "friend" closely, offering neither comment nor apology when they caught her at it. A current of tension ran through the house, though the boys pretended not to notice. Sirius continued to be polite and respectful when he addressed her or her husband, though he was less of a playful joker than when he had arrived. Both boys adhered without complaint to the law Sylvia had laid down -- so far as she could observe -- and spent much of their time discussing plans for the coming months. 

"Have you written to James yet?" 

Her son's voice came from the kitchen, and Sylvia paused on the stairs to listen, just out of sight. 

"Yes, but I don't know where to send it. They're touring." 

"I'm sorry," Remus said softly. "I know you were looking forward to going off adventuring with him." 

Sirius made a dismissive noise. "Yeah, well, I would've missed you. Letters aren't the same, are they?" 

"No, I suppose not." There was a smile in her son's voice. "What do you think you'll do instead?" 

"Apply to university, I suppose. It's what I was going to do next year, anyway, and if I'm quick about it, I might still get in somewhere good. There's some money coming to me from my Uncle Alphard, now that I'm eighteen." 

"Where were you thinking of applying?" asked Remus. 

"Oh, you know. Somewhere nice." Sirius's tone was excessively casual. "Surrey. Maybe Bristol." 

Remus laughed -- a pure, sparkling sound, so very rare -- and Sylvia edged down onto the next step to peer around the door frame into the kitchen. She need not have worried about being seen; the two boys had eyes only for each other. Sirius leaned back against the counter, hands behind him. Remus stood very close to him, their noses inches apart, but they were not touching. Not quite. 

"I love you. You know that?" said Remus so quietly that his mother had to hold her breath to catch it. 

Sirius's eyes went soft, and a broad grin spread across his face. "You know, your mum said I'm not to touch you, but she never said anything about you touching me." 

"You make an interesting point," Remus smiled. 

Sylvia knew she should make a sound -- should interrupt them somehow -- but something in her son's face stopped her, and she kept her silence as Remus bent his head to close the space between himself and Sirius. There was a slow, careful caress of lips against lips that seemed to go on for a long time. 

"I love you," Sirius sighed when they parted. 

Remus smiled at him fondly. "Tell me something I don't know." 

Sirius looked thoughtful for a moment. "If we both get in somewhere -- Bristol or Surrey or wherever -- we could get a flat together. Just you and me." 

"Oh." Remus looked startled. "That's --" 

"Don't you want to?" asked Sirius. 

"Of course I do," Remus assured him. "It's just -- Mum and Dad won't like it much, and they'll be paying part of my way. I'll have to talk to them about it." 

Sirius nodded reluctantly. "I like your parents. They've been loads better about everything than mine were. Think they'll ever like me?" 

"Of course they will," said Remus, pressing his lips briefly to Sirius's once more. "How could anyone not love you?" 

Very quietly, Sylvia stepped backwards up the stairs and out of sight. 

* * *

"What are you thinking about?" Marcellus asked, turning on his side. 

"What do you think I'm thinking about?" replied his wife irritably, eyes still fixed on the ceiling over their bed. 

Marcellus sighed. "I've been thinking about it, too. I'm just wondering what you're thinking." 

"That boy has asked Remus to move in with him." 

Her husband looked unsurprised. "Eavesdropping, is it? What did Remus say?" 

"He said he would talk to us about it." 

"And?" 

She sighed. "I'm just trying to figure out what I'll say when he does." 

A toe prodded Sylvia's foot. "Remus is a good boy, Syl. He's clever and he's honest and he's stronger than anyone should ever have to be. He didn't have to tell us about any of this. We might not like it, but we can't make his choices for him. He's not a child anymore." 

"I know," she said wearily. "I haven't wanted to admit it, but today --" 

"What?" 

"He looks so much like you did at that age." She looked up at her husband, conflicted. "The way he looks at that boy -- I remember when you used to look at me like that." 

Marcellus's eyes softened. "Used to? You think I don't love you as much as I ever did, Syl?" 

She groped for his hand, a sad smile playing on her lips. "We used to be so happy, Marc. All of us. Before. Do you remember? If that boy -- if _Sirius_ makes Remus happy, how can I not want that for him?" 

"Shall we give them a chance, then?" her husband asked, bringing her fingers to his lips. "It won't be easy for any of us. People will talk. The world isn't very favourable towards that sort of thing." 

"I know," she sighed. "But that's all the more reason why Remus needs a home he can feel safe in, and parents who are proud of him. I am, Marc. So proud of him." 

"Me, too, Love." Marcellus kissed his wife fondly. "We'll tell them in the morning."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someday I promise this will have a sequel.


End file.
